A Stolen Childhood
by Jaffaninja
Summary: A devastating betrayal separates five-year-old twins Harry and Ashton Potter. Ashton is the Chosen One with a heart-shaped scar, and Harry is dead. Or so they all think... My take on a 'Voldemort raises Harry' fic. Dark!Harry
1. Prologue: Live a Nightmare

**So this is another of those 'Voldemort raises Harry' concepts, crossed with 'Harry has a twin who is the Boy-Who-Lived' concept. I wanted to do my own, put my own spin on it. There's going to be similarities between this fic and other fics with the same themes (well, that's unavoidable) but I am going to make it original (or try to, at any rate). **

**I need to credit some authors who inspired me more than most, though, so if you haven't yet, check out 'A Shattered Prophecy' by Project Dark Overlord, 'The Darkness Within' by Kurinoone (especially the rewrite version) and the Sacrifices Arc, which starts with 'Saving Connor', by Lightning On The Wave. Hats off to them, they are awesome fanfiction authors. If you haven't read their work yet, I suggest you do, it's extraordinary. **

**Disclaimer: I'll only say this once - I am a deprived school-aged teenager, therefore I don't own Harry Potter. Anything recognisable belongs to JKR. I do, however, own my OCs (e.g. Ashton). This story bears resemblance to other stories on this site. I won't say it's purely coincidental but I am trying to make this different. **

**I've made Harry, Ron, Draco, and everyone else four years older in this AU, because it suits my purposes better. Just a heads-up. It doesn't change the plot much; everything else is still on the same timeframe.**

**So without further ado, here it is:**

A Stolen Childhood

Prologue

Lily Potter wished it could always be this way. She, James, and the other Marauders - Sirius, Remus, and Peter - sitting and laughing in the sitting room, twins Harry and Ashton asleep upstairs. The flickering fire warming the whole house. The illusion that they were safe.

They were not, she knew that, but it was a nice illusion. Outside the limits of the Fidelius Charm, the war raged, but Dumbledore had insisted they went into hiding. When she'd heard the prophecy, she couldn't exactly object. Her children had to be safe from Voldemort. They were only five years old, for crying out loud! She wouldn't let a prophecy ruin their lives.

What she didn't know was just how far from safe they were. Across the room from her, the small, weedy man nicknamed Wormtail rubbed his hands together anxiously. They were already slick with sweat, but his nerves were getting the better of him. _Calm down,_ he told himself. _You'll be fine. They don't know anything about what you're about to do._

He knew the others were ignorant of his loyalties, but he couldn't convince himself he would be fine. He went over the plan, repeatedly, again and again, in his head. It would work. It was foolproof. Wasn't it? Wasn't it?

The clock struck eleven, and the others, too busy laughing at a joke Sirius had made, failed to notice. But Peter did. It was happening now. _So soon?_ he thought in despair, but the prepared excuse was already on his lips. He had practiced this for weeks. Everything had to be done just right.

"James, would you mind showing me the bathroom?" he asked. He managed to keep the quaver out of his voice, though it rose unusually high on the last syllable.

James looked up in surprise, but grinned good-naturedly. "Sure. Though I'd think you'd know where it was by now, Wormtail! You come around often enough!"

Wormtail went red, but sighed in relief and pushed his hair back from his perspiring forehead. It had worked. Nothing was going wrong. James led him out into the foyer, and Wormtail shut the door behind him. Now.

"Petrificus Totalus," he whispered. The spell hit James in the back and he fell, rigid as a board, arms straight at his sides; but Wormtail caught him and laid him on the ground. A loud noise right now, such as the sound of James Potter crashing to the floor, would completely ruin his plans. He shuddered to think how displeased his Lord would be if things went wrong.

He crept out the front door and hurried past the limits of the Fidelius Charm. There were two cloaked figures standing outside, not seeing it, but knowing it was there. One of them was tapping their foot impatiently, and Wormtail winced. He _was_ on time, he knew. He must be. The Potter's clock wasn't fast

"Wormtail," said the tapper, a female. "You took your time."

"It's eleven," he whispered. "My Lord - here is the house -" he whispered the location to the other figure.

It was as if the house sprang to life. It was suddenly, obviously visible - how had they not seen it before? - and through the window, they could see the fire glowing.

"My Lord, James Potter is dealt with," said Wormtail. "The twins are asleep upstairs."

"The others?" said the figure who had not yet spoken. His voice was high, and cold, and beneath his cloak, ruby eyes glittered impatiently.

"In there," said Wormtail, waving his hand towards the window. "Three of them."

"One each," purred the woman. "I want the pleasure of killing my dear cousin."

"Stunning," corrected Wormtail. He flinched at the scathing look the woman gave him.

"I _know_ that. It was a slip of the tongue."

"Come," said the Dark Lord, for it was him who Wormtail was so afraid of. "Let us deal with this matter."

Wormtail bowed his head, and the trio walked briskly up to the front door. An ornate knocker adorned it. "Shall we knock?" asked the woman mockingly. "To give them a chance?" She raised her hand.

"Now is not the time to play with your food, Bellatrix," said the Dark Lord, and Bellatrix flinched, stung by the rebuke, and swiftly dropped her hand back to her side. Of course, he was right. And had she been anyone else, she would have been scared he might kill her, but she wasn't just any Death Eater. She was a member of the Inner Circle, perhaps the most trusted f them all. One of the two Death Eaters to know about the plan, though others would be told eventually. But for this phase...

The other who was involved was the petrified man called Wormtail who slowly opened the door, afraid it would creak. Bellatrix sniffed. The only reason he was here was because he was one of their only double agents, and the other one hated the Potters. The Potters would not trust him. And their trust was an essential part of the plan. It was not possible for it to succeed without it, or they would have switched secret keepers long ago.

The trio paused in the foyer, eyes raking the unconscious body of James Potter. He was lying on his back where Wormtail had left him, a horrified expression on his face. An expression that showed Wormtail his friend knew, now, of the depth of his betrayal. His heart twisted, but he did nothing.

With a look of disdain, Voldemort stepped over it, and opened the door to the sitting room. Shock instantly showed across the faces of the three people in there, then fear at seeing Voldemort, betrayal at seeing Wormtail, anxiety at what had befallen James, before they finally recovered enough to draw their wands - but all too late. Three cries of "Stupefy" and Lily, Remus, and Sirius were as unconscious as James was.

"Pleasant dreams," said Bellatrix, smirking. "You'll wake up to a nightmare."

Then they turned, and ascended the stairs to where the Potter children lay asleep. Oblivious to the horror that was about to befall them. But not for much longer.

It was time to put this plan into action. It was the only way to strike at the heart of the feeble (yet annoyingly resilient) group of people who opposed Voldemort. He smirked. It would take time, yes, ten years to be precise, but it would be worth it. Ten years of believing they were safe, that they had been saved by a child, by Ashton Potter. And then...

Then, thought Voldemort, the Wizarding World was as good as his.

**So that was just a little prelude. The first chapter will be up soon and it's quite a bit longer. It'll tell you what happened (or what people think happened) that night.**

**-Jaffaninja-**


	2. Shattered Hopes

**Here's the first real chapter! Hope you enjoy, I worked hard on this. A little dark, but nothing major as such. Violence towards the end.**

A Stolen Childhood

Chapter One: Disillusionment

Ten years today.

Ashton bit his lip, watching the other members of the Potter family, and the friends who had come along. His mother, Lily, was crying softly, examining a photograph. A picture of a black-haired boy, with her eyes and everything else of James', looking exactly like Ashton, flying a broomstick. Another, sitting on the table, was of the two nearly identical boys hugging. In that photo, Ashton was five years old.

His father James was not crying, but the sadness on his face was so pronounced that he was as good as. He had his head in his hands, and Ashton knew he was remembering. It was what he always did on this day.

Sirius had his arm around him, talking quietly. He wasn't trying to cheer him up, because the first half of today wasn't cheerful. Instead, he was saying words of encouragement, remembering Ashton's twin brother, the boy with a light laugh and mischievous grin. Ashton's own heart ached, but he was determined not to show it.

Remus was sitting quietly in his chair, staring at the same bit of ceiling he had been staring at for the past ten minutes. There was nothing particularly interesting about that patch of ceiling. This was Remus' way of remembering and honouring. Ashton didn't know how he could sit still for so long.

The others had not been in the house on the day Ashton's brother was murdered and You-Know-Who destroyed, but they knew every detail. Most people in the wizarding world had some idea, and knew the basics. But detail was something given to the Order of the Phoenix, which had yet to be disbanded. There were still so many Death Eaters still carrying out You-Know-Who's wishes, even though the wizard himself was dead.

The Weasleys sat in one corner of the room. Ashton's friend Ron was not with them, choosing to sit by his best friend instead, and Ginny looked as though she wanted to come over there too. The whole family looked gloomy. Mrs Weasley was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, trying not to cry. Mr Weasley was comforting her.

Bill and Charlie Weasley were also talking, and while they looked gloomy, occasionally they did smile. They were recalling memories of Harry, obviously, who had been the most amazing boy. Ashton blinked back a tear. _I can barely remember my twin brother._

Percy stood by the door, looking around at the others, his hard eyes softening as he caught glimpses of Harry's photos. The twins, Fred and George, were for once not cracking jokes or pulling pranks. They weren't even talking. They just stared mutely into space, not saying a word. Completely out of character. Everyone was acting out of character. Most people in the room had known Harry, and loved him.

Hermione Granger, a friend of Ron and Ashton, sat on the same couch as them. "Horrible. Just horrible," she whispered, reading over a newspaper article that had come from the time. "Oh, Ashton -"

"I know," he whispered hoarsely. "I know."

The Bones family, or what was left of it, were also there. Susan Bones, a classmate of Ashton's, who was in Hufflepuff, was quietly talking with her aunt. Her parents had been murdered by You-Know-Who, and she at least had some idea of what the family was going through.

Frank and Alice Longbottom were there, sadly mourning the loss of their own son, Neville, as well as Harry. Neville had been killed by Death Eaters when he was nine, by means of a violent curse that had left only the mangled remains of a child. It was hard to identify him afterwards. Two months before, a similar amount of people had gathered with them to mourn for Neville.

Emmeline Vance and Sturgis Podmore sat awkwardly on one of the couches, as if unsure what they should be feeling. Kingsley Shacklebolt was quietly ruminating in a corner, and Albus Dumbledore sat in a chair beside Lily, whispering to her, and examining a photo himself. This one showed Harry at three, using a practice wand to conjure a puff of smoke. Ashton had to smile. He could remember those wands. He still had his.

Poky, their house elf, served drinks. Even her large, tennis-ball eyes were brimming with tears. Poky had been a faithful member of the Potter household for eight years, and was well acquainted with the family. While she did not remember Harry, anything like this affected her. She was very sensitive.

"If you need more, they'll refill!" she squeaked bowing, before hurrying out of the room. Ashton watched her go, not really registering.

"Let us raise a toast," said Dumbledore, taking his glass. "To Harry James Potter."

"Harry Potter," murmured everyone, and they drunk. To his irritation, Ashton realised he had been given just water. Then suddenly he felt petty. Why was he irritated by something so small? His brother had died today.

_And you lived,_ he told himself, rubbing the heart-shaped cut on his forehead. Sure enough, when the drinks were refilled, Kingsley raised a second toast.

"To Ashton Godric Potter," he said, in his low, rumbling voice. "The Boy Who Lived."

"Ashton Potter," the people murmured. Ashton blushed, and Ron put his arm around him.

"It's okay, mate."

Ashton nodded, grateful for the support. He needed it, today of all days.

Ever since he could remember, they had gathered on this day. The Potters and a few friends, to celebrate and mourn. To mourn his brother, Harry. On the night You-Know-Who had killed his brother, half the room had been blasted apart by a modified 'reducto' curse, modified that so not only did it obliterate objects, it would do the same to people. There were so few remains they could salvage of Ashton's twin, except the blood that had splattered the walls and a few bits of flesh and bone, that they simply had a memorial gravestone outside instead of actually burying him there.

But also, they gathered to celebrate the downfall of You-Know-Who. Because he had tried to kill Ashton, and had not succeeded. The killing curse - or whatever curse it had been, perhaps the curse You-Know-Who had cast on Harry - bounced off Ashton's forehead, leaving a heart-shaped scar and destroying You-Know-Who. The heart supposedly represented love - the love Ashton had, that Harry had once had, the love that Voldemort couldn't understand.

Dumbledore had several theories about what had happened, but the one he thought most likely was that Harry had woken, and tried to save Ashton. Ashton winced whenever he heard that, but if it was true - well, the love would have made a shield, protecting Ashton, and reflecting the curse that had taken Harry's life. That love would still protect Ashton now, if You-Know-Who was ever to return.

"One curse cannot destroy a sacrifice so great," Dumbledore had told him once.

Ashton knew there was a prophecy involved, which had caused You-Know-Who to try to kill the twins in the first place, but both Dumbledore and his parents refused to tell him about it. He had tried begging, and the silent treatment, and telling them he deserved to know why his brother had died, but they didn't budge.

The celebrations that occured in most parts of the wizarding world would not occur in Godric's Hollow until after lunch, when the day turned at noon. It was their way of honouring both boys, and embracing the two emotions the day brought. Jubilation and desolation. Opposites. Today they had so much to celebrate, and so much to mourn.

Ashton wished, very hard, that he could just see his brother again. Long enough to tell him how much he loved him.

* * *

The last of the wooden target dummies slammed into the wall. A youth in black robes clenched his fist, and the dummy exploded, showering the underground room with splinters and wood scrap. Another boy standing beside him scowled.

"Show off," the second boy muttered, sending a row of dummies crashing into the ceiling and slamming them back to the floor. "How do you get them to explode like that?"

Smirking, the first boy turned to the man who stood by the door, watching him through ruby eyes.

"Yes, father?" he asked. Hastily, the second boy also spun around.

"Your training proceeds well, I see," came the cold voice. "Your wandless magic is getting better."

"You expected differently?" the youth said, smiling. "I am one of your heirs, father."

"Of course," said Voldemort. "And as for why I have come. There is a matter that I wish you two deal with."

The youths straightened. The first was tall and slim, and he looked maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, though it was hard to tell. The other, of about the same age, was built more stockily, with more muscle. "Of course. What is it?" asked the first.

"Malfoy has reported a group of Order members will be targeting Crouch and his father. Crouch's father is a very useful spy in the Ministry, albeit not very willingly."

The thin youth snorted. "He is under the Imperius Curse, then? Cast on him by his son?"

"Yes, but Malfoy believes the Order members know of Crouch Junior's true loyalties. They can't prove it -"

"Which is why the Ministry won't get involved, but they've probably authorised this secretly? And you want us to stop it?" guessed the other boy.

"Yes. Though it will be irritating to lose Mr Crouch Senior's information on the Ministry, it is not as if we don't have other spies, admittedly few so high up. You won't be able to stop it without proving Mr Crouch's identity, but he won't mind."

"He's wanted to show himself for years," said one boy, nodding.

"Yes. A strong message. Reveal you are my sons but nothing, I repeat, nothing else. That part must be kept secret. And keep them alive. Severely wounded if you will. Demonstrate your power, but do not kill them. They have to deliver your message."

"Don't worry, father. We won't fail you," the first youth promised.

"You have proven yourself capable. I am not worried," said Voldemort.

"Father?" asked the second boy.

"Yes?"

"Are we going to come into the open soon, though?"

Voldemort smiled, a strange sight, but one the youths seemed used to. "My sons, we already are. Slowly, but we're coming out. You are ready. We are beginning today. Remember though, these things take time." His tone changed. "Go now, my sons."

The youths nodded, and swept from the room. Voldemort allowed himself a smirk. He was sure, now, that he was all but invincible.

* * *

The celebrations were over now, and everyone had gone home. Ashton Potter sat in the sitting room, worn out, and deep in thought. He tried to recall his memories of his brother, because it seemed like the right thing to do. And he wanted to. He wanted to remember. He had a pensieve before him on the table, and he raised his wand to his head, drawing them out in long silver strands.

He placed them in the pensieve and watched them settle, before plunging his head in. He couldn't wait any longer to see his brother again.

The first memory was of when they were so young that he was surprised he could remember it at all. It was a simple memory of them watching their mother cooking. Harry and Ashton were sitting on the bench, watching as Lily waved her wand and added ingredients. Both boys laughed when Lily accidentally knocked the mixing bowl to the floor, and Lily laughed too, pinching their noses and muttering "Cheeky!" which made them laugh harder. Ashton winced, feeling tears prick his eyes. His brother could never laugh, now.

The memory shifted, and now they were three, racing each other on broomsticks and performing manoeuvres they thought, at the time, were daring and clever, but now seemed silly and laughable. Ashton smiled as he watched Harry and his younger self dive from the chimney. James was watching them, too, the smile he wore radiating off his face. Lily came out, scolding James for letting them ride broomsticks so young, and they came down, grinning from ear to ear.

Again, it shifted, and it showed them at four. They were duelling with their practice wands, but all they could do was send sparks at each other. Harry was obviously the better dueller, for his sparks went further and lasted longer. Young Ashton gave up and tackled his twin, and they fell to the ground, shrieking with laughter. James and Lily came out to see what the shrieking was about, and smiled when they saw. James joined in, tickling them until the yelled at him to stop. Ashton smiled at that one. He still hated being tickled.

And now they were five, visiting Diagon Alley for the first time. The identical boys pressed their faces to the windows and goggled at the broomsticks in _Quality Quidditch Supplies_. The watched the owls in Eeylops Owl Emporium and enjoyed sundaes from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream parlour. Ashton saw Harry slip a beetle eyes out of his pocket and drop it on young Ashton's ice cream. Young Ashton shrieked when he noticed , causing their parents to whip around in shock and Harry to burst out laughing.

He had more memories to see, but he pulled his head out, not wanting to watch them right now. His mother was watching him from the doorway, a tear trickling down her cheek. He went up and hugged her fiercely, trying not to cry himself.

Harry had looked almost exactly like him - same green eyes, Lily's eyes; same messy black hair, though Ashton's tended to behave better; same crooked grin and mischievous smile, which had definitely come from James. They had been almost identical.

_Except now, thanks to You-Know-Who, I've got a scar on my forehead and he's... dead, _thought Ashton ruefully. He rubbed his scar irritably. _If You-Know-Who wasn't already dead, I'd kill him right now._ Generally Ashton hated the idea of killing, but for You-Know-Who, he could very easily make an exception. _He's hardly a person, more like a creature. So it's not like I'm taking a human life. And it's not as if anyone would care._

Lily stroked his hair and murmured about how proud she was of him and how much she loved him. "I love you too, Mum," he said, looking up at her.

"He would be fourteen, nearly fifteen, same age as you," said Lily softly.

Ashton nodded. In his fifth year of Hogwarts, taking OWLs at the end of the school year, playing Quidditch in his spare time or perhaps being on the house team. He would be a Gryffindor, Ashton knew. He'd blocked a curse for his twin brother. If that wasn't bravery, what was? Harry was a true Gryffindor. And their whole family had been in that house.

"We would be celebrating the defeat of You-Know-Who, and it wouldn't be bittersweet," Lily added.

Bittersweet, yes, that was the right word. Ashton had spent half the day being congratulated, the other half being pitied. The whole day had been bittersweet. And now everyone was gone. Even his father and Sirius - they had Order business. They had mentioned a raid, but said nothing else except for who was going with them - Kingsley Shacklebolt, Dedalus Diggle, and Nymphadora Tonks. Ashton was worried for his father's safety, but Lily assured him they would be fine. They weren't expecting any opposition, and if there was, it was likely to be only one Death Eater and possibly a man who'd been Imperiused.

"So they'll win, right?" Ashton had asked, trying not to betray how worried he was for his father.

Lily ruffled his hair. "There probably won't be a battle, Ash."

Ashton had relaxed when he heard that. Nothing mattered to him more than his family and friends.

* * *

James saw the boy slip off his broomstick and banish it away somewhere, and motioned for his fellow Order members to stop and duck behind some bushes. They were inside the wards, perhaps six metres away from Barty Crouch Junior, who was sitting on the doorstep. Two boys were walking towards him. When he saw the boys, he stood.

"You took your time, Dark Heirs!" he said.

_Dark Heirs?_ thought James. _Is that their names or what?_

One boy shrugged. He was cloaked and hooded, and James couldn't see his eyes, but on his mouth was a playful smirk. He was the taller and slimmer of the two. "My dear Barty, you know we are never late for an appointment."

"Well, I expected the Order to be here by now. They'll show themselves any minute," Barty defended.

"We can deal with them," said the other boy. "Don't worry yourself."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Barty answered. "What are our Lord's plans for my father? What shall we do with him?"

"Keep him under the Imperius Curse," said the first boy. James flinched. So Mr Crouch had been under the Imperius Curse, feeding the Death Eaters information, possibly for years. How much did the Death Eaters know of the Ministry? Were there other spies?

"Father thinks he might still be useful," the other youth added. How old were these boys? Sixteen? Not of age, surely.

"Well, I can't find a use for him, not even entertainment," Barty said. "An old man tap-dancing does get boring after a while."

James shook with rage. He heard Tonks gasp in horror. "How dare he!" she said. James agreed very firmly. That was sick, just the sort of thing a Death Eater would do. He clenched his fists.

"Father is most creative, and he also plans to interrogate him. After that, well, he might be useful as an example." The slimmer Dark Heir shrugged. "Who can tell?"

"The Dark Lord is indeed creative," agreed Barty. James winced. Dark Lord. That meant... it couldn't mean...

"He Who Must Not Be Named is back?" whispered Diggle. "He's back?"

"Or he was never gone," brooded Kingsley.

James motioned for them to be quiet as Barty continued. "You are lucky to have him as your father, Dark Heirs."

_That_ was like a blow to the stomach. These were Voldemort's sons? His heirs? Since when did Voldemort have sons, and how had they been hidden? Suddenly the boys, who had looked almost laughable a minute ago in their robes and hoods, looked a lot more dangerous.

"Indeed," said the first boy coolly. "Barty, I need you to take your father and anything useful, and go. Apparate to the Lair, or outside it."

_The Lair? Is that where Voldemort has been hiding?_ "You don't want me to fight?" asked Barty incredulously. "You think you can deal with them yourselves?" There was a note of teasing in his voice. Barty must be on good terms with the two boys. He was certain most Death Eaters wouldn't be allowed to address them so disrespectfully.

"Please. I've been dying to try out _succendo_ for weeks now. And I think I can deal with them. They're hiding over there," the boy added, gesturing to where they were hidden, "and listening to every word we say."

They froze.

Barty laughed. "Found out some uncomfortable information then! They thought the war was over!" He chuckled softly. "Idiots."

"My father's plan is proceeding. It will not fail. But anyway, Barty, go and get inside. We have business to attend to."

"Very well," said Barty, heading inside. "The Order's pathetic!" he added over his shoulder, knowing they could hear. Sirius winced at the comment. "Scumbag," he muttered.

"You can come out now," the second Dark Heir said. "We know you're there."

Unwillingly, James and the other Order members stepped out from behind the bushes.

"I take it you're not here to spy," said the first boy, who seemed to do more of the talking than his... brother. Was it his brother? Well, they were both Voldemort's sons... "Generally the Order thinks that below them."

"No. We suspect Barty Crouch Junior and possibly Barty Crouch Senior of Death Eater involvement. We are here on a raid," James told him. "And we now have confirmed proof of Barty Junior's guilt and proof of Barty Senior's innocence."

"And we are here to deliver a message from our father," the youth answered.

"What kind of message?" asked Diggle guardedly. "What does He Who Must Not Be Named want?"

"No courage to say his name?" the other youth taunted. "This message can only be delivered by action."

James drew his wand, and behind him, he heard the others do the same. "I think you should leave or we'll be forced to hurt you," he said calmly. Well it _was_ only two boys, wasn't it? Even if they were Voldemort's heirs.

Again, the boys smirked, and suddenly he and the others were blasted back by a wave of force. James slammed into the ground, winded, and looked up at the boys while scrambling to his feet. They hadn't moved. They had done that wandlessly and non-verbally.

_So maybe they are a danger after all._ James got up and ran at him, the others behind him. "Stupefy!" he yelled.

Lazily, even, both boys conjured a full body shield that absorbed the spell. "Diffindo!" the second called. Behind James, Diggle cried out in pain. James turned to look and saw him lying sprawled on the ground, a long gash oozing blood down his chest. Promising himself he'd help Diggle once he'd got to the Dark Heir, he ran on.

"Stupefy!" he yelled again, hearing Kingsley, Sirius and Tonks yelling it too. Four stunners straight at him should have shattered the boy's shield and knocked him out for a long time, but they bounced right off and sailed back towards them, and they were forced to duck. They stopped running and began to duel properly.

"Aruspices Exactos!" the first boy intoned, at the same time stepping out of the way of a _rictusempra_ and _furnuculus_. Sirius gasped, and fell to the ground, groaning in pain and trying to mutter counter-curses. The entrail expulsion curse could kill.

Anger welled up in James at the sight of his friend lying sprawled on the ground, trying to coax his entrails back into his stomach and groaning. He shouted "Petrificus Totalus!", missing the first boy who he was aiming for but hitting the second, who dropped to the ground. The first looked furious, and perhaps... worried. _They probably fight better together._

"Succendo!" said the boy, cold rage seeming to radiate from the spell. James frowned. That was the spell he'd said he wanted to try...

Then he stopped his thoughts and gasped in horror. Tonks was screaming, screaming in pain. She was on fire. It was like the modified reducto curse - only this was a modified incendio. The boy had hate all over his expression.

"Aguamenti!" said James, ignoring the boy for a moment but feeling white-hot anger at him. Sirius and Diggle was bad enough - they were obviously in intense pain - but Tonks was screaming, so loud and full of torment, and James could feel the heat. The water charm put out most of the fire and Tonks recovered enough to put out the rest, and fainted afterwards. James turned his attention back to the battle.

"Osconfractus!" said the boy. Kingsley snarled in pain, and James could hear the bone in Kingsley's leg crack, twice, three times.

"Immobulus!" Suddenly James could not move. The boy approached him, smiling coldly, his eyes hidden by the hood he wore. Behind James lay Sirius and Tonks, both safe but unconscious, Kingsley, who was trying to fix his leg, and Diggle, who had recovered enough to send a stunning spell at the youth.

Snarling in irritation, the boy deflected the spell and sent another cutting curse at Diggle, who screamed in pain. James tried to break free of the freezing spell but couldn't. It was too strong. The boys were far, far more powerful than they had supposed.

Satisfied, the boy turned to face him. "James Potter," he said coldly. "I was beginning to wonder when I'd see you again."

_Again?_ thought James. _I've never seen him. No one has. That's why we don't know about him!_ He tried to move, to raise his wand, but the charm held fast.

"I suppose you're wondering exactly who we are," said the boy. He was sneering. "We are the Dark Heirs, sons of Voldemort. We have been trained by him since we could hold our wands in our hand, and it goes without saying -" here the boy smirked "- that we are now extremely powerful. Father sent us to give you an example of our power."

James managed to get his mouth unfrozen. "Why? Why have you done this?"

"Why do you think?" said the boy. "My father wishes me to. I come bearing a message, from him. He does not appreciate these sorts of raids. Desist, or I will have actually try to kill you. And I am not happy you managed to jinx my brother."

_You were firing cutting hexes and entrail expelling curses at us!_

"Sectumsempra," said the boy, and James was released completely from the freezing spell, but the boy's use of _sectumsempra_ caused gashes to appear all over James' body. He cried out in pain, and they started bleeding, soaking through his robes.

_Sectumsempra's one of Snape's spells. How does he know it...?_

"We will meet again, James Potter," said the boy quietly. "If I don't want you to die, I better call for help, seeing as you seem a little preoccupied. Auxilium!"

The boy fired a spell into the air, then, smiling coldly, turned and walked away, freeing his brother, and leaving James, Sirius, Tonks, Diggle, and Kingsley lying on the ground in incredible pain.

* * *

**Please let me know what you think! Feedback is appreciated.**

**-Jaffaninja-**


	3. Disillusionment

**Thank you to the many people who alerted/favourited this story, and especially thank you to those who reviewed! I can't believe the response this story got! **

**Anyway, here's the second chapter. The plot's starting to roll now, and we see more of the relationship between the Dark Heirs. No answers yet, though! **

**Other than that, no much happens in this chapter. A lot of talking and stuff. Ah well, hope you guys enjoy anyway.**

A Stolen Childhood

Chapter Two: Disillusionment

"Ash, do you want to play Quidditch with us?" asked Ron.

Ashton looked up eagerly. He was at the Burrow because his mother had sent him there yesterday, the day after the celebrations. She had seemed very flustered and promised she'd contact him as soon as possible. It was almost certainly Order stuff.

"Honestly," said Hermione, in a lecturing tone they'd heard too many times before. "I don't know why you want to play Quidditch. You've got so much holiday homework to do."

"Who wants to do holiday homework?" Ashton muttered. "Sure, Ron. Who else is playing?"

"Fred, George, Ginny, Charlie," said Ron. "Bill's with the Order, and Charlie says he has to be too, soon, so the match'll be short. Mum and Dad are at the Order too."

Ashton sat up. "You don't think something's up, do you? I mean, it's just a meeting, right?" Ashton inwardly doubted it - his mother had really been panicking. There was something up.

Hermione bit her lip. "Did you notice how horrified Mrs Weasley looked when she got the firecall this morning?"

"Yeah, you're right!" said Ron, his mouth open. "I wonder what it is."

"Dad went on a raid last night," said Ashton. "With Sirius, Tonks, Kingsley and Diggle." He couldn't keep the worry out of his voice.

"They'll be fine, surely. Your Dad and Sirius captured Rosier and Dolohov and Mulciber!" proclaimed Ron.

"I guess," said Ashton uncertainly. Ron had failed to mention that recently those Death Eaters had escaped, completely baffling the Ministry. No one knew how it had been done. Even the dementors were unaware of the breakout for weeks, because food and water in Azkaban was delivered magically. Eventually, someone had run a check on all the Death Eaters only to find over half of them were missing.

_Is that the cause of the meeting? I doubt it; if it was people wouldn't be so shocked. It's old news now._

"Don't worry, Ash, they'll be fine," said Hermione firmly.

He nodded. "Yeah - yeah, they'll be fine," he replied, trying to believe it. He knew it was silly, but he always worried about his parents when they were on Order business, particularly his father, who always seemed to be in the front line. _I just don't want to lose anyone else the way I lost my brother_, he admitted silently to himself.

Hermione suddenly gasped in shock and Ashton whipped around. Arthur Weasley stepped out of the fireplace, and the look on his face was grim.

"Ashton," he said, and Ashton's heart plummeted. What had happened? Mr Weasley hardly ever spoke in such a serious tone.

"Yes?" he whispered, fearing the worst and attempting to mentally prepare himself for it. _Your father's sick, wounded, dead... your godfather too..._ His mental preparation wasn't working. He was still afraid.

"You... you need to come with me."

"Where?"

"St Mungo's," said Arthur. "Your father and godfather have been injured."

Ashton's plummeting heart stopped entirely. He had not been able to prevent the shock, although he had expected something similar when Mr Weasley stepped out of the fireplace. "On... on the raid?"

"Yes. Most of the Order's at headquarters right now, but a few are there to keep guard an, you know, that sort of thing."

"What happened?" asked Hermione anxiously. "Are they okay?"

"Don't know. They're all unconscious, except for Kingsley, who's having his leg repaired."

"Repaired?" said Ron, gobsmacked.

Arthur grimaced. "Broken in three places. I'll be back soon. Come on, Ashton."

Ashton nodded mutely and let Mr Weasley lead him into the fireplace. "St Mungo's!" said Arthur clearly, and Ashton stepped inside the fireplace with him because he didn't think his voice would work well enough for him to floo safely on his own. They vanished with a plume of green smoke, leaving Ron and Hermione staring in shock at the empty fireplace, trying to process this turn of events.

* * *

"What happened?" Lily begged the healer. James was lying on the hospital bed beside her, groaning, unconscious, and bleeding from deep gashes across his body. On the next bed lay Sirius, beyond him, Diggle, and on the last bed in the ward, Tonks. This was the ward for people who could die of their injuries. Some members of the Order had gathered here on Dumbledore's orders. Only two other beds in the ward were occupied, and both occupants were asleep.

"Don't know, I don't recognise the curse," said the healer briskly. "Glad you got Snape here; he seems to know what it is."

Lily turned to Snape. "What is it? What curse? How do you know it?"

Snape looked troubled, waving his wand and murmuring spells. "It was Sectumsempra," he said quietly. "I invented it, at Hogwarts. The only people who know it are Order members and Death Eaters." Snape frowned, wondering why he was bothering to heal James. He hated him. But Dumbledore had asked him to, and he _did_ owe him a life debt. Maybe this would mean it was even, now. _Well, I protected his brat of a son in his second year with the Chamber of Secrets incident. The debt's already null and void. Now _he_ owes _me_ a life debt._ Snape smirked. It was a nice change. Let Potter have something hang over _his_ head.

"They're coming round," said the healer, casting rennervate. Sirius came around first, raising his head weakly. James, who was next, grinned back at him. Diggle, too, seemed better, but Tonks still lay in the hospital bed, too weak to move.

"Would you mind leaving for a few minutes?" asked Dumbledore politely. "We have sensitive matters to discuss."

"Very well," said the healer, leaving, but casting suspicious glance backward at the multitude of people.

"I suppose you want to know what happened?" said Sirius, wincing in pain. "Ow. Having your intestines put back in is _not_ pleasant." James chuckled softly at that.

"Of course we do!" said Lily. "A team of five accomplished wizards, all landed in St Mungo's! You're lucky you weren't killed!"

"They didn't want to kill us," James muttered.

"What?" asked Dumbledore, ice-blue eyes piercing hazel.

"That's what the kid said. He was sending a message. He and the person he works for don't want any more raids."

"The kid?" said Remus Lupin. "A boy Death Eater?"

"There were two boys," muttered Diggle.

"Two _boys_?" said Lily incredulously. "As in, a _kids_?"

James nodded. "They were so powerful. It was weird. Unnatural, even, for kids to have that much power."

"They were wiping the floor with us," Diggle added. "We got, maybe, one spell through their shields."

James shuddered, remembering the boy's words. _We have been trained by him since we could hold a wand..._

"Tell me specifics," said Dumbledore gravely.

James took a deep breath. "So we arrived at the house, and we see these boys. So obviously we don't think they're much of a threat, but they blast us backwards - wandlessly _and_ non-verbally - and start beating the crap out of us."

"Hit me first. Diffindo. Sliced right down the chest," said Diggle, sounding ashamed. "Went right through my shield as if it wasn't there."

"Then one hit Sirius with the entrail-expulsion curse. Our spells bounced right off this shield he had up," continued James. "I got one with a body bind, which made the other one angry. He cast a spell I didn't recognise - _succendo_, I think - and set Tonks on fire."

Lily winced. "You mean..."

"She got hit the worst," said James. "He got Kingsley with a bone-breaking curse, and then..."

"Then he hit you with sectumsempra," finished Andromeda Tonks, who kept casting worried glances at her daughter. While the two had a strained mother-daughter relationship, they did care for each other.

"Not at first. He delivered his message first. He said... he said he had wondered when he'd see me again, though I've never met him. And he said the message was from their father, and next time, he'd try to kill us."

"He didn't try that already?" said Lily.

"No," said James. "He cast the _auxilium_ that brought Dumbledore to us. And there's something else..."

"What is it?" asked Mrs Weasley.

"They... the boys are Voldemort's sons. They're called the Dark Heirs."

Some people flinched at the name, even after ten years of thinking they were safe. Everyone froze. "What?" whispered Lily.

"That's what he said," said James. "And they spoke as if... as if Voldemort was back. Crouch did too. One said he had a message from Voldemort. And also, he said he wasn't telling us everything. But it sounded like he was. I wonder what else he was hiding?"

They were silent for a moment, and the silence was only broken when Ashton and Mr Weasley came in. Ashton rushed to his father's side. "Dad! Dad, are you okay?"

"Fine, son," he said, smiling at him. He couldn't tell Ashton about the attack. For a start, it would worry him. Almost certainly, he would be Voldemort's first target. They would deal with that, but right now, he needed to stay calm. His son was upset enough as it was by the attack, even though he didn't yet know any details. His face was pallid and his eyes were wide with worry.

"You don't look fine. What happened? Why is everyone so pale? Where's Kingsley?"

"He's not dead, if that's what you're thinking," said James quickly. "In another ward."

"Why?" asked Ashton. His face was ashen. "Dad, what is it?"

James hesitated. The healer came bustling in as he did. "Sorry, sorry, you all have to go now. These four need rest. They could easily have died."

Ashton's mouth dropped open in horror. "What?"

"Go, I mean it!" said the healer.

"Come on, Ash," said Mrs Weasley. "Do you want him to come back to the Burrow, Lily?"

Lily wiped a tear from her eye. "Yes... but don't..."

"I won't," Mrs Weasley promised. "It's not time to tell them yet."

"Tell us what?" demanded Ashton, twisting from Mrs Weasley's grip. "Mum, what is it? What's going on?"

Lily forced a smile. "Your father will be fine, dear. I imagine the Order will have a meeting when they're well. You've had a shock; you need to rest, too."

Ashton frowned, not buying it, but smart enough to know he needed to avoid protesting around the healer. "Fine," he snapped. He turned and stalked over to the fireplace, followed by Bill, Arthur, and Molly Weasley.

"He's only angry because he's worried," said Sirius quietly, as they disappeared in a plume of smoke.

Lily watched him go, a tear falling down her cheek, wondering if her son would ever be safe again.

* * *

"Severus," said Dumbledore, staring Snape straight in the eyes. He didn't flinch under the intensity.

"Yes?" he asked.

"You know what you must do," Albus said. Snape merely nodded, and swept out of the room.

* * *

"Terrible," whispered Hermione, as Ashton recounted the events in the hospital. "Absolutely horrible. Who could do something like that?"

"I don't know, but everyone's worried," said Ashton, clenching his fists. _Me included, and I don't even know what happened. Why won't they tell me?_ Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny were listening closely. Ginny looked as appalled as Ashton felt.

"Dad was... there was blood everywhere," said Ashton. "Diggle didn't look much better, and Sirius too. But Tonks..."

"What happened, mate?" asked Ron.

"Tonks looked like she'd been burned," said Ashton. "Her skin was all red and inflamed. And there's more - there's something big they're not telling us yet."

"I can hardly believe it," said Ginny.

"I hope they get the bastards who did it soon," said Fred grimly. Then he brightened, as though another, completely different thought had occured to him. "Right, who wants to help us test our produce?"

"What is it?" asked Hermione dubiously, eyeing Fred and George with a suspicious look.

"Canary creams," said George innocently. "Try one, Hermione?"

"No, thanks," said Hermione, turning back to the book that lay on her lap. "I hope you're not going to waste your seventh year trying to sell all that rubbish," she added.

"It's not rubbish, Hermione, and yes, we are," said George. "We weren't even sure we were going back to Hogwarts until we got this idea."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You two." She didn't sound as though she was exasperated, though, more like amused or mildly entertained by the thought of her two brothers telling their mother they were skipping N.E..

"Something wrong?" asked Fred innocently.

"Let's go play Quidditch," said Ron, sounding bored of the current discussion. "Come on, Ash."

Ashton smiled gratefully at his friend, who was probably just trying to keep his mind off the events. "Coming," he said, getting up and heading outside.

* * *

Harry and Neville strode into the Lair flushed with success. It had been far easier than Harry had thought, and he'd put his new curse, _succendo_, to good use. He had to be careful, of course, that he didn't use it too often, but right now, he wasn't too bothered about that. Of course, Neville had been hit with a body-bind, but that was a simple mistake that could be rectified.

He smirked when he saw Malfoy, Baddock, Goyle, Crabbe, Nott, Davis, and Bulstrode Juniors waiting outside, along with various other Death Eater children. Davis, Crabbe, Goyle and Pritchard, the tiny boy hiding in the shadows and trying not to be noticed, hadn't been here before - their parents had only just returned to the fold. They were waiting for their parents to leave the Death Eater meeting that must be going on in there. Draco got up to walk beside Harry, and he could feel the others looking on enviously. They would give a lot to be friends with the Dark Heirs. Neville grinned at Draco.

"Whoa, Harry, Neville, you're forgetting something," said Draco. "Put your masks on. I know it's hard to see you under those hoods, but you can never be too careful."

"That's rich, coming from you, Draco," chuckled Harry. But he did summon his mask and put it on. "Better?"

"Yeah. You two going in, then?"

"Yes," Harry answered. "Wait for us out here."

"I will," Draco promised.

They strode into the Death Eater meeting purposefully. None of the Death Eaters dared look up as they made his way to their father's sides at the head of the table. Next to Neville was Bellatrix Lestrange, and then Barty Crouch, who had obeyed orders after all and returned. Next to Harry was an empty seat.

"Snape's not here, then," said Harry unconcernedly. He glanced around - most of the Death Eaters weren't wearing masks. A precaution to make it more difficult for people to impersonate them, though a basic one. Neville Harry's identities were still being kept secret, so they still wore their masks. Not that he or Neville were Death Eaters.

"No, he has yet to arrive," said Barty. "Nice work with the Order members. I heard they were all in St Mungo's."

"I did promise," said Harry. "I got to try out my new spell, too. Succendo."

Some of the Death Eaters looked uncomfortable. Harry smirked behind his mask. "Problem, Gibbon, Bulstrode?" he asked innocently. Neville laughed cruelly as the named Death Eaters cringed.

Gibbon swallowed. "Not at all, Dark Heir." The two Bulstrodes were quick to echo him.

Harry saw Voldemort's suppressed sneer. Pathetic, really. These were the Inner and Middle Circles, the Outer not having been informed that their Lord had never died. The Inner Circle was more comfortable - Bellatrix, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, Regulus Black, Crouch, Mulciber, Malfoy, Greyback, Rookwood, Yaxley, Avery, and Rosier - but they had known about the Heirs and their methods for years. Less comfortable was the Middle Circle, of which there were a great deal more members.

Harry took out his wand and twirled it between his fingers. Wormtail, sitting near the end of the table, flinched, and Harry grinned. He knew about Wormtail's role on the night he had been brought here, but that didn't mean Harry owed him anything, and it was amusing to watch him squirm.

Squirm. That reminded Harry. He still wanted a snake. His father had recommended he get one a few days ago, but he hadn't had the time to act on it. Neville wanted one too, but he couldn't speak to them. He wasn't a Parselmouth. He had a falcon, though, a vicious bird called Sanguine. Blood, in Latin, as well as the English connotations.

"Serpensortia," Harry said softly. A snake fell onto the table, making more than a few people flinch. Voldemort smirked. Nagini, his own snake, was curled around his shoulders.

"_I command you, as descendant of Slytherin, speaker to the snakes,_" hissed Harry in Parseltongue, speaking ancient words only taught to Slytherin's direct descendants and magical heirs. "_Hear me, obey me, serve me, as your fathers and forefathers have done._"

The snake hissed a reply. "_I greet you, snake-speaker."_

"_I greet you, serpent-kind,_" Harry answered. The snake seemed satisfied, slithering over to Harry, who picked it up and put it on his shoulder. "_You need a name._"

"_I do,_" responded the snake.

"_I shall call you Tenebris_," Harry hissed. "_Darkness._"

"_It is fitting,_" said Voldemort, also in Parseltongue.

"_That is why I chose it, father,_" Harry replied. "_How long shall we wait for Snape?_"

"_He is here,_" Voldemort said. Harry turned. Yes, there was Snape, striding purposefully towards the table. The Dark Lord indicated his seat, and Snape, uncomfortable at being so close to the Dark Heir, sat awkwardly in his chair.

"Welcome, brothers," said Voldemort clearly. "All of the Inner Circle have gathered, and the Middle." He looked at Snape. "Some have returned to the fold, like Severus here. He brings information on the Order of the Phoenix."

"I do," said Snape. "My Lord, the Order is aware that you have returned, and that you have two sons." He gestured to the boys on his left and bowed his head respectfully.

Avery snorted. "Returned?" A few of the other Inner Circle Death Eaters laughed as well, along with the more senior Middle Circle members. Greyback snarled. "My dear Severus, you are remarkably under-informed."

"Indeed," said Voldemort. "Returned, you say, Snape? I never left. I have spent ten years preparing the final piece in the game. Our spies are everywhere. Many wards have been taken down. And I have honed my craft. I am now the greatest sorcerer who has ever lived, and my sons are the second greatest."

Harry smirked, though he knew Snape couldn't see. "_You can understand, can't you?_" he asked Tenebris.

"_Yes,_" Tenebris replied. "_Can I have some food?_"

"_Yes,_" Harry replied, amused. "_Wait just a moment._"

"As you can see, Snape, they have inherited a vast amount of the gifts I possess. Harry can speak Parseltongue. Neville is an accomplished legilimens," Voldemort continued. Snape looked exceptionally worried, though he hid most of it behind a mask of respect and indifference. Harry had always been good at reading expression, though, and he could see the emotions Snape could not bury.

"Wormtail, fetch some food for Tenebris. A couple of rats would be fine," said Harry. Wormtail looked as if he was about to protest, but Harry stared at him through the silver mask that adorned his face. "It would be wise," he added coldly. Wormtail nodded furiously and hurried away, scared out of his wits.

Snape was sitting further back in his chair, as if shrinking away from Harry. Maybe it was an act, but it didn't matter.

"Snape is not the only one here who has recently returned," said Voldemort, glancing around at Davis, Pritchard, Macnair, Selwyn and a few others. "So for those people I will summarise to you what has happened. Obviously, I am not dead. I was never dead. You really thought a five-year-old child could defeat me?" he sneered. A few of the Death Eaters in the Inner Circle, which had been informed years ago, chuckled softly. Harry smirked. "Also, I now have two sons, the Dark Heirs. They are to be feared and respected, and you will obey them."

Snape nodded, and Harry noted a couple of others who were nodding as well. The newly returned Death Eaters.

"Son. Tell us about the Crouch incident."

It could have been either of them, but Voldemort was looking at Neville. Instead of telling them, though, Neville whispered "Legilimens," and put parts of the memory in their minds, the parts Harry had given him. Neville was careful only with Bellatrix and his father. The rest he did not care about, whether their memories or mental functions were disrupted. Harry saw Snape wince a little at the part where he had set Tonks on fire. The spell _had_ worked better than expected, but it had done its job.

Voldemort looked pleased at what Harry and Neville had done. "Well done, my sons."

Harry grinned. "Well, we were taught by the best," he said. The Dark Lord inclined his head, acknowledging the compliment.

"Now, Snape, I trust you have further information on the Order?"

"Yes, My Lord..."

* * *

"The Order has called another meeting," said Fred, flopping down on the couch. George was already lying sprawled on it, fiddling with a sweet wrapper. "Bill just told us."

"Yeah, and it's about the hospital thing, it has to be," added George. "Two meetings in two days?"

Ashton, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron nodded. "What else could it be?" asked Ginny. "Mum promised she'd tell us what it was soon."

"She won't," said Ron instantly. "She always says stuff like that and then we find out for ourselves."

"It must be big," said Hermione. "Everyone is really worried. Percy shut himself up in his room all afternoon, and Mr Weasley had his wand out all the time."

"Noticed," said Ron, rubbing a small burn on his cheek resentfully. Someone had startled Mr Weasley and he let off some sparks accidentally. "Mum's just the same. Ruined last night's dinner. Honestly, she should know the difference between salt and sugar."

"I didn't notice," said Ashton, only semi-honestly. Mrs Weasley was a great cook, but sugary potato was a strange combination. "But you're right about it being big. Everyone was as white as ghosts when I got there. And, well, the injuries were horrendous."

"You said," replied Ginny. "Don't remind me."

"While you four were busy noticing how jumpy they all are," said George, "me and Fred actually found some stuff out. And it's not good news."

"How did you find out?" asked Hermione suspiciously.

"Don't worry your pretty head about it, Hermione," said Fred casually. "We just overheard Charlie and Bill, that's all."

"What is it?" asked Ashton, desperate to know.

George took a deep breath. "You-Know-Who is back."

Ashton froze. "_What?_" he whispered. Ron's mouth was hanging open, and Ginny had given a little squeak. The evil wizard who had killed his brother, back? Would he come after Ashton? He didn't know. Probably. He wasn't sure if he was afraid or not.

"That or he was never gone. And he has two sons," Fred added.

"A _son_?" said Hermione.

"Two. No one knows their names. Called the Dark Heirs or something. They're the ones who injured your Dad, Ash, and Kingsley, Diggle, Tonks and Sirius."

"On their own?" asked Ashton, fear rising up in him at the thought of these boys, who could wound his father so terribly. "They did that alone?"

"Yeah," said George grimly. "They can do wandless magic, and non-verbal."

"But that's very advanced!" said Hermione.

"Yeah, well, the Order reckons You-Know-Who was never gone. He spent ten years honing his magic, raising those sons of his. So now they're very powerful."

Ginny shuddered, and Ashton felt like doing the same. It was a terrifying prospect.

"Do the Ministry know?" he asked hesitantly.

"Don't think so, but it won't take long to get out, will it?" George said. "There'll be panic, for sure."

"Who wouldn't panic? After all the people he killed, we thought he was gone. Forever. Now he's not," said Fred.

Ashton frowned. "If he was never gone, what happened that night? When my... when I got my scar?"

There was silence. They couldn't think of an answer to Ashton's question.


	4. Reach the Surface

**Here's chapter three... It actually consists of a lot of broken scenes, half scenes etc, etc, but I swear I need them all! I finishedwriting the prophecy, but it won't be revealed for a few chapters yet!**

**This chapter's also important because it shows a lot of the relationship between Harry and Neville, which is ****extremely important for later chapters. **

**I want to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I love reading reviews and they're generally really encouraging. Thank you!**

A Stolen Childhood

Chapter Three: Reach the Surface

"So how was the meeting?" asked Draco. Harry looked at Neville and grinned.

"Great," Harry replied. "Got my familiar at last."

"You're kidding!" Draco pouted. "My father's making me wait until my birthday!"

Harry and Neville laughed. "Too bad, Draco," said Neville, trying to sound serious. It didn't work because he cracked up halfway through.

Draco went red and muttered something Harry couldn't catch before taking a deep breath, and regaining his composure. "Well? Show me! It's a snake, right?"

"_He's_ as snake. Of course," said Harry. "What did you expect from a Parselmouth?" Harry smirked at Draco's expression. "Fine. _Tenebris? Come out. Someone wants to admire you._"

"_Well, I am beautiful,_" hissed Tenebris from Harry's sleeve, which he had decided to inhabit.

"_And modest,_" replied Harry sarcastically. Tenebris hissed in annoyance, but willingly slithered out and onto Harry's shoulder.

"Cool," breathed Draco. "I want a snake."

"_Is he as speaker?_" asked Tenebris.

"_No,_" Harry replied.

"_Then he's boring. But he is permitted to admire me. The other one is your brother, is he not?_"

"_Yes, that's my brother_," Harry said, trying not to laugh.

"_Then I respect him._" Tenebris slithered back into Harry's sleeve.

"What did he say?" asked Draco eagerly.

"He said you're boring, but you're permitted to admire him," said Harry, somehow keeping a straight face. Neville laughed at Draco's expression, and Harry grinned too. "Don't worry, Draco, Tenebris isn't the most modest of snakes."

"_I heard that,_" said Tenebris in annoyance.

Draco, Neville, and Harry walked around to Harry and Neville's room. It was very large and grand, obviously. Tenebris slithered out in excitement and hurried over to Harry's bed. "_I can sleep here?_"

"_Of course,_" Harry replied.

"Hey, Harry, want to play wizard's chess?" asked Draco.

"Sure," Harry replied, wandlessly summoning his chess set and putting it down on a table. "I'll be white." Draco scowled, but relented.

"You two," said Neville, shaking his head. "Why do you want to play chess? It's boring."

Harry rolled his eyes. He and Neville were very close, but definitely different. Harry was cunning, calculating, and creative. He invented his own spells and learnt new ones more quickly. Neville, however, was physically stronger than harry, and had more resilience. His didn't learn as quickly as Harry did, but even his simple spells were more powerful. A stunning spell from Harry's wand would knock someone out for anything from ten minutes to three hours. Neville could knock someone out for a week if he wanted.

Together they were practically undefeatable. They had duelled with half the Death Eaters and won. Neville getting body-bound when they ran into James Potter had just been a slight hitch. Below par. Harry's brother barely ever slipped up like that. As to which of the two was more powerful, it was probably Harry. But only because he's been training for four years longer than Neville.

They were on speaking terms with all the Death Eater's children but only really friends with Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, whose father and mother had not been attending the Death Eater meeting. Harry frowned. That was odd, but there was probably a good reason. Their father hadn't made a fuss about it.

Now Harry thought about it, some others had been missing. Dolohov, Rosier, Mulciber, Gibbon - none of them had turned up. His father would have said something if there was a problem. They must be on a raid.

"Check and mate, Harry!" said Draco triumphantly.

"Whatever, I was preoccupied," said Harry indifferently. He truly didn't care whether he won or lost - he could stand whatever taunts, if any, Draco delivered, and what really mattered was learning strategy. Strategy was his part, because that sort of thing was lost on Neville. He had the sort of 'barge in without a plan and everything will be fine' attitude that was commonplace among the magical population.

Draco grinned at him. "When do you to have lessons? I've got to go soon."

"In ten minutes," said Neville, who had been practicing spells while Harry and Draco played. "You two wasted the afternoon. We could have gone flying."

"We can fly tomorrow," said Harry. Love of flying was one thing all three boys shared. Neville had been nervous at first, but like Harry and Draco, he was a natural.

"So I'm coming tomorrow?" said Draco. "Great! I'll tell father!" He raced out of the room without even a goodbye, but Harry didn't mind. He'd see him tomorrow, after all.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore stood in front of the Order of the Phoenix, about to commence the meeting. Everyone was nervous. A few kept throwing looks at the doors and windows, as if Voldemort might suddenly appear there, and most were on the edge of their seat. Sighing, Dumbledore called for attention. Recent events had taken a lot out of him.

"As most of you will be aware now, Voldemort is back." Even that simple phrase seemed to panic people slightly. Albus looked around, noticing Kingsley, Diggle, James and Sirius had defied the healer's orders to come to the meeting. Tonks was still in St Mungo's, and they should be too.

"Do not panic," said Albus. "We have reason to believe he was never gone in the first place.

"And that's a reason not to panic, I suppose!" called Frank Longbottom. A few people laughed, but most were too shocked. Everyone had heard this already from what people had said before the meeting started, but now it was official, and therefore more real.

Albus sighed. This was not going right. "Calm down," he said firmly. It seemed to work, as the hysteria died down. "We are also aware that he has two sons, known as the Dark Heirs. Severus has gathered more information on them."

Snape got up and stood at the front. "This is what I know. The two are Voldemort's heirs. No one seems to know their real names, except for The Inner Circle and Wormtail." Albus saw James, Lily, and Sirius tense at the mention of the traitor who had gotten their son killed.

"They are known, to distinguish each one from the other only, as Blood and Shadow. The one known as Blood is stout and strong, physically and magically," Snape continued. "His spells are amazing. His _reducto_ has been known to level entire houses. He's an accomplished legilimens, and keeps a falcon called Sanguine."

People looked worried about this new threat. Blood sounded dangerous. "Sanguine means blood in Latin," murmured Elphias Doge nervously.

"The other is known as Shadow. He is more cunning, intelligent, and imaginative. He creates his own spells, like the one that set Tonks on fire. Most have terrifying effects. He is a Parselmouth, and keeps a snake named Tenebris, which he has recently acquired. Of the two, he is more confident, and probably more powerful. He s also the Dark Lord's magical heir."

More than a few people looked anxious at that. Someone had inherited Voldemort's magic?

"They are extremely close. Together they are practically undefeatable in combat - in fact, they duelled half the Death Eaters at once together and won. Mr Potter being able to cast a body-bind on Blood was surprising, and it won't happen again. It was a mistake on the Heir's part."

"Are they the same age? Twins?" asked Hestia Jones.

"As far as I can tell, they are the same age. I don't know if they are twins. I have heard, however that they were not born in the Dark Lord's 'Lair' as it is referred to. Whether or not they are actually brothers, or even Voldemort's true sons, is impossible to determine. They are extremely loyal to him and each other. He has sent them on missions before."

"So they know a lot about You-Know-Bloody-Who," said Alastor Moody gruffly. "I say we figure out a way to catch 'em and make them talk."

There was some nodding of heads at this, though a few people looked sceptical.

"I assure you, Moody," said Snape, "you will not find capturing them easy. However, if we could somehow split them up, we could play on each of their weaknesses. Together one compensates for the other, but if they were separate..."

* * *

"You're late," said Bellatrix.

Harry sighed. "We were waylaid. Each of the new Death Eaters we passed felt they had to stop and bow in the middle of the corridor."

"I tripped," said Neville ruefully, rubbing his elbow.

Bellatrix narrowed his eye. "Over who? He will pay!"

"Already has," said Harry coldly. He didn't elaborate, and Bellatrix didn't ask for details, instead proceeding with their lesson.

* * *

"Snape. Back from the Order, I presume?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"I require you to teach my sons potions. Gibbon is not nearly as skilled as you."

"Thank you, my Lord. At once," Snape replied, walking from the room.

* * *

_I have never met fifteen-year-olds so disturbing._

They kept their masks on and hoods down, but Snape could see their eyes still - two cold, green eyes and two frosty brown ones. They were fixated on him, watching his every move. Snape could see the calculating look in the green pair, and he knew the boy was scrutinising him, analysing him, judging him.

It put him on edge, but he briskly began the lesson by asking, "Where did you get up to with Yaxley?"

The brown eyes looked at him disdainfully. The green eyes - they belonged to Shadow, Snape remembered - looked him up and down before replying. "Far enough."

He set them to brew a few potions and quickly realised 'Far enough' meant far past N.E.W.T level. Blood actually laughed when he set them the Draught of Living Death, a sixth-year potion, and both brewed it almost as well as Snape could. In a few years, they would probably be better than he was.

_Dumbledore has to know about this._

* * *

"Again," came the cold encouragement.

"Crucio!" said Neville. The girl screamed once - a high, shrill scream - before her torment seemed to end. Harry sighed.

"Space it out," he murmured, stepping up to take his turn. "Crucio!"

The boy, who was trembling beside his sister against the opposite wall, fell to the ground and convulsed, screaming in agony. His eyes stared without seeing and he thrashed, trying to relieve the pain, not that it did any good. He was frothing at the mouth now, his cries feral, animal - tears were falling down his cheeks into a puddle in the ground looking on in horror but utterly helpless. Eventually Harry lifted the curse and the boy just lay there, too weak to stand.

The boy and his sister had been brought to the Lair by the Death Eaters a few days ago, as the children's parents were both muggle-born. Both children were magical, and the girl would be going to Hogwarts next year. Harry didn't know their names, but that didn't matter. In a few hours, they would be obliviated and abandoned in the wilderness. They would get home. Probably. It depended on how resourceful they were, and how good their accidental magic was.

"Well done," said Voldemort. "Again, my son."

Neville nodded, looking determined, and again shouted "Crucio!"

The boy lying on the ground stared helplessly at his sister as the curse took hold of her. She screamed, joining him on the ground, screamed and screamed. When Neville finally released the curse, she looked worse than the boy did. Voldemort seemed pleased.

"You have done well, my sons."

* * *

"Concentrate, Severus, they must have more weaknesses than those," said Dumbledore patiently.

"Concentrate? How can I concentrate when they've been practicing the Cruciatus Curse all afternoon? I have a headache from all the screaming."

"Who did they practice on?" asked Albus.

"Kids. Not at Hogwarts yet. Kids of two muggleborns." Severus waved his hand. "Does it matter? They're probably dead by now, Albus! And you sit there, telling me to concentrate, without any idea how hard it is for me in that place!"

"Severus, please. I did not mean to provoke such a response. I merely wonder if you have missed anything."

"I don't know!" growled Snape in exasperation.

"Can you say where Voldemort's base is?"

"It's called the Lair. Other than that, I cannot say; I am not Secret-Keeper."

"Who is?"

"The Dark Lord, of course," said Snape irritably. "Who do you think? He's not going to trust anyone else."

Dumbledore sighed. Things were not going very well.

* * *

Harry was not generally one for nostalgia, but he permitted it occasionally. He lay back on his bed, exhausted from the day's lessons, and remembered.

He was nine when he first met his brother. His true brother, not his blood brother, that prep Ashton Potter, who had the gall to think he was the 'Chosen One'. Neville had been scared, pink, and guarded. Very firmly on the side of the Light. Harry was annoyed at first about having to share his room, but the sight of the scared boy made him remember himself, four years previously, when he had first come.

That night he made a promise. He would never break that promise, never ever. He still remembered the conversation.

"Harry died," said Neville confusedly. "You can't be Harry."

"I'm not that Harry anymore," he said, trying to explain. "I'm different now. People are going to think you're dead too, though. That's good. They'll leave us alone."

Neville clenched his fists. "My parents will look for me."

"They think you're dead," said Harry. "And they are only your blood parents, Neville. They don't care about you really. Father does."

"No..." said Neville, crying now. "They care about me. They do! Yours do too."

Harry shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Not as much or they'd have protected us better. And we're much better off now, Neville. The Light is twisted. They'd have used us and expected us to do it for the 'Greater Good.' But there is no greater good. There isn't. They think muggles and mudbloods can live with us but they're wrong. Well, maybe muggles. But they're expendable. They hate wizards."

"You're lying," said Neville.

"I'm not lying, Neville. I'm your brother now, and brothers don't lie to each other."

"You're not my brother."

"I am. I will be. In all but blood. I will be your brother in the ways it matters, I promise."

Neville looked at Harry, shocked. "Why?"

"Because..." said Harry. He was unable to describe why. Did he miss having a brother? He pushed that thought away. He did not miss his stupid Potter brother. As far as Harry was concerned, he was no longer a Potter, so he didn't have a brother. "Father says we are to be brothers. He will teach you, brother."

"Brother," repeated Neville, a little stunned. "I always wanted a brother. My brother was stillborn."

Harry bit his lip. "Brother. I promise you this. I will be your brother in the ways that it counts. I will support you, guide you, and protect you. I will show you the right way. I will love you. You are my brother in all but blood."

"In all but blood," repeated Neville. "Do you mean it?"

"I always keep my promises," said Harry honestly. "The Light is wrong. The Dark is right. I promise to show you."

Neville suddenly looked distressed. "But... but that's not what..."

"Not what your blood parents told you," finished Harry. "Neville, blood doesn't matter. It never has to me. I came here when I was five. It took me a few years to get used to it, but eventually I came around. I chose my loyalties. Five years of being light was five years too many."

"You're wrong, Harry. I'll show you. The Light is the right side."

Harry sighed. Surely, he hadn't been this stubborn? How had father coped? "We'll see, brother. Goodnight."

"Goodnight... brother," said Neville softly.

* * *

By the time Harry was seven, he was dark. At eight, he was very firmly dark, and had started casting Unforgivables. It took Neville longer, however, because he had been light for longer. When Neville was twelve he chose to be dark, but it wasn't until they were fourteen that he fully accepted it.

"Harry," said Neville quietly. They were alone in their room. Several times, it had been suggested they have separate rooms but they didn't want to. "Your birthday is tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" asked Harry in surprise.

"Yeah. You're fifteen tomorrow."

Harry paused from writing notes on his new spell. "So I am." It was strange. Ten years this October. Ten years since he'd been liberated, shown the dark, and given a proper father. One who let him form his own opinions, who nurtured his talent, who didn't treat him like an outcast because he could speak Parseltongue. Who, instead of calling his oldest son heir and naming him his successor, called both his heirs. Both would lead the Death Eaters were he to die, unlikely as that was. If Harry had stayed with... them, he would be neglected. Ashton was older than he was, after all.

"Big milestone," commented Neville.

"Yeah," said Harry. Then he grinned. "Finally I can catch up to you!" Neville had been fifteen for a week now. They were both born at the end of July.

Neville laughed. "Anyway... Father told me we should have these." He held out two silver discs.

"What are they for?" asked Harry.

"Ward-ripping portkeys," said Neville. "Even if anti-portkey wards are up, they'll take you back here. Mulciber just developed them. Only problem is they can only take one person. To activate the, you don't have to say anything, you just think, really purposefully, about using them."

"Wow," said Harry, taking his. "Multiple uses?"

"As many as you want," said Neville. He grinned. "Good idea, huh?"

"Definitely," said Harry. If they were ever captured, they could come straight home. They needn't escape or anything. Harry was sure the discs would be very useful.

Tenebris slithered up Harry's arm. "_I'm hungry. Got any dead rabbits?_"

* * *

"Happy birthday, son!" said James, laughing as he ruffled Ashton's hair. Ashton grinned. He was sitting in the lounge with his friends and a pile of presents. Fred, George, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Luna were sitting around waiting for him to open them. "Go on, Ash!" said Ron encouragingly.

Ashton smiled and pulled the wrapping off Ron's present. "Wow! A Keeper's manual!" Ashton was the Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Thought you'd like it," said Ron, grinning.

Hermione gave him a study guide. Ron looked at her in shock. "Hermione! It's the holidays!"

"In a month, it won't be!" said Hermione firmly. "And it _is_ OWL year."

"Thanks, Hermione," said Ashton. He opened the present from Fred and George gingerly, as he was afraid it might blow up in his face. It didn't - Fred and George had given him a lot of trick sweets instead.

"Thanks," he said.

"Slip some to Malfoy," said Fred. "Little git."

"I will," Ashton promised. He unwrapped Ginny's present, a collection of actual sweets. All his favourites - Droobles Best Blowing Gum, Liquorice Wands, Cauldron Cakes, Fizzing Whizzbees, Pepper Imps, Sugar Quills and Acid Pops, which he liked even though they tended to burn through your tongue.

"You're welcome," said Ginny as he opened his mouth to thank her. He grinned instead and took Luna's present, unsure whether or not it would be... normal.

Luna surprised him - it was a hat with a lion on that growled realistically, identical to the one Luna often wore to Quidditch matches.

"Wow," said Ashton. "Thanks, Luna!"

"It's charmed so it won't fall off when you're riding your broomstick," said Luna.

"I'll be sure to wear it," said Ashton sincerely. He wasn't going to let anything like pride get in the way of honouring a friend, the way a lot of people did.

"You seen the newspaper today?" asked Fred the instant the adults had left the room.

"No, why?" asked Ashton.

"It's all over the news. Must've been leaked somehow. That You-Know-Who's back, and he has two _heirs_. "

Ashton sat up. "How did that get leaked?"

"No idea. Probably the Order told them. The ministry didn't believe it at first, but the Prophet did," said George, rolling his eyes.

"Why wouldn't the ministry believe it at first?" asked Ron incredulously.

"Think about it, Ron," said Hermione. "They didn't _want_ to believe it. You-Know-Who's back - they're terrified. Add that to the fact that this time around, he's got two heirs, and what do you expect?"

"They're not really his sons," said Luna.

Everyone glanced at her in surprise. What did Luna know about them, and how did she know it?

"They're really frawmungers. The feed off fear and then use it to kill wizards. There're kept in Azkaban, but those two escaped when the Death Eaters did."

Ashton sighed. So Luna didn't actually know anything useful, anything of substance. "Maybe, Luna," he said.

"There are lots of reports coming in, apparently," said George. "Strange, mysterious deaths that have happened over the past few months. The Prophet reckons they did it."

"The Daily Prophet's just trying to stir up panic. They're in league with the frawmungers," said Luna sincerely. Ron rolled his eyes and Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, but Luna hadn't noticed.

"You might be right about them stirring up panic," said Ginny. "Everyone's going to panic now. You-Know-Who's back, officially back. Of course people are scared."

"Has anyone sighted him?" asked Hermione.

"Yes, several times. Leading raids and stuff," said George. "Bill told me."

"How come you two always know these things?" asked Ron.

"That, ickle Ronnikins, is one of our trade secrets. It doesn't hurt to ask around, you know. Might pick up something useful," said George.

"Like always checking whether you've got your wand," said Fred. Ron hastily checked his pockets.

"Hey!" he said. Fred and George laughed, and Fred tossed it back.

"Better be careful with that, Ron," said Fred. Ron went furiously red and swore so loudly that Mrs Weasley poked her head back inside.

"Ron! Don't you ever let me hear you use that sort of language again!"

"But-" Ron protested.

"No buts! We're not at home, Ron, and for the record, don't let me hear you swearing there, either!" She slammed the door, and there was an awkward silence for a minute. Ashton coughed.

"Anyone up for Gobstones?" he asked.

"Sure," said Ron mutinously. "Charlie swears all the time, and she never tells him off!"

"Calm down," said Ginny. "You're overreacting as usual."

"Boys tend to do that," Luna noted.

* * *

"Now that both of you are fifteen, I have two more gifts for you."

Neville and Harry glanced at each other in surprise. "Thank you, father," said Harry, wondering what they were.

Voldemort pulled a locket out of his robes and handed it to Neville. He then gave Harry a ring. The locket had an 'S' on it - 'S' for Slytherin, probably - and the ring had the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

"Put them on," their father instructed. "They are two of my horcruxes. They contain pieces of my soul. No one can take them off you; only you can remove them. Keep them safe for me."

"We will," they promised. Harry was rather overcome. His father trusted him and Neville to keep pieces of his soul safe? This was the best birthday present he had ever received. The look on Neville's face said the same.

Tenebris slithered out onto Harry's shoulder. "_I can hear the ring whisper to you, master. It will give you and your father a connection._"

"_Correct,_" Voldemort replied. "_Son, I will freely admit that your snake is more intelligent than Nagini._"

Harry smirked. "_She wouldn't be pleased._"

"Can you stop talking in Parseltongue?" asked Neville cautiously. "Only I can't understand it."

"Sorry," said Harry immediately, feeling guilty. "I should have thought of that."

"It's okay, Harry," said Neville.

"I apologise, Neville," said Voldemort. "In any case, they cannot be removed, so if by some strange fluke, you end up captured or killed, they will be safe. They have other spells on them too, and they can help you evade that sort of situation."

"Thanks you," said Harry and Neville again. Harry added, "So we are to reveal ourselves soon, then?"

"You know the plan. Reveal both your identities, at once, as close together as possible. But we have to let rumours about you circulate first. The Order knows of your existence now - it would not, I believe, hurt us if you were to let it slip. But it must happen all at once. Timing is essential."

"Yes, father," they said, identical grins on their faces. Soon. Soon.


	5. The Burdens of a Saviour

**Don't you just love me for updating early? This story wouldn't leave me alone, so I wrote this chapter for you guys... The scenes are far less broken than in the last chapter. Also we start to see what sort of stuff Ashton's going to have to put up with, and that sort of thing.** **Yes, it's a bit filler-y, but all this stuff has to happen. I can promise and action-filled chapter soon!**

**Thanks to EVERYONE who reviewed the last chapter. I'm so happy you're enjoying this story, because it won't leave me alone, and I have to get it down or I'll think about it in class and my teachers will yell at me - again .**

**So here we have chapter four. Please review!**

A Stolen Childhood

Chapter Four: The Burdens of a Saviour

Albus Dumbledore had never believed Voldemort was truly gone. He had always been sure that he would return, eventually, and that he could be defeated by Ashton Potter. Ashton's scar was in the shape of a heart, after all. Love. Love was their secret weapon, in a way, for Voldemort had never felt love, and could not understand it.

But Voldemort, it seemed, had never gone in the first place. Yes, he had been defeated by Ashton - or, at least, Ashton had reflected the curse and Voldemort had fled - but he'd hidden himself away for ten years, calling back his Death Eaters slowly and honing his craft. When it came down to it, love might not be enough.

Albus shoved that thought away. _It will not do_, he chided himself,_ to go thinking things like that. One must always have hope, even in the darkest of places._ And it was getting darker, he noted. Voldemort had two heirs, who wielded extraordinary power. Albus had watched James' memory of the incident, and he recalled the boy's words. _We have been trained by him ever since we could hold a wand._ They, too, had honed their magic over the past ten years. Ten years of peace were shattered now. Alastor Moody and Elphias Doge had found evidence that several strange murders had been committed by the Dark Heirs. The murder of several muggleborn families, and even a half-blood witch, Gloria Johnson, who had a daughter in Gryffindor at Hogwarts. The newspapers were having a field day, and driving the magical community further into panic.

And he could not pretend he was not afraid, too.

He was not afraid for himself, though he might not be able to hold his ground against Voldemort this time. He was afraid of the destruction that could be heaped upon them. They would win - he had to believe that, for if he didn't, who would? - but their losses, he feared, would be colossal.

_How many families will be ripped apart? How many lives lost, children killed, loyalties turned? How long will the war last this time?_

He needed to talk with Ashton. If the newspapers had never printed what they knew, Albus would have had more control over the situation. Broken the news gradually. He didn't have that luxury now, but he needed to start teaching Ashton what he would need to know to defeat Voldemort.

Many a time did Albus feel that it was simply not fair on the boy. He was only fifteen, and fifteen-year-olds should not have to worry about saving the Wizarding World or defeating Dark Lords. When Ashton had defeated the basilisk and closed the Chamber of secrets when he was twelve, in his second year, Albus had become resigned to the fact that he would lead a difficult life.

_But must it be _this_ difficult? I had counted on him being of age when Voldemort returned. He is not. He is still a boy._ Dumbledore stroked his beard unhappily. No, it was not fair, but it had to be done. Ashton had spent too long innocent of the world. Love would defeat Voldemort, yes - but not on its own. This time he would need something else. Magical prowess.

Ashton was talented, and had some raw power - Albus had seen that, at Hogwarts. But he didn't know how to unleash it. He took after his mother - quiet and studious, not afraid to break the rules but knowing where to toe the line, despite the influence the Weasley twins had on him. He needed to unlock his potential power. Was there a way?

_It is certainly possible,_ Albus thought grimly, _but it will be difficult. I think I shall take him for private lessons. He also needs to learn more about Voldemort, and his scar. Maybe it is time for him to hear the prophecy._ He grimaced. They had kept it secret for so long the thought of telling Ashton went against his instincts. But Ashton was, for all purposes now, no longer a child. He'd grown up dogged by the papers, and Merlin knew he deserved some time to breathe - but he needed to mature.

The world needed him. They needed a saviour.

* * *

"Private lessons today," Bellatrix informed them. Neville groaned. He hated being separated from his brother, even for an hour. It was silly - but he was used to having him around, and no one knew him like Harry did.

_And, I guess, I want to make up for my failure._ He knew he had failed. No matter what Harry or Father said, he had let a spell get through his shields, and the most frustrating part was no one seemed to blame him for it. There had been whispered promises to kill James Potter in the slowest and most painful manner possible, but no one seemed to think Neville could have avoided what had happened.

_I could have. I left Harry alone to fight off five members of the Order. I left a hole in his shields. And I know I could have dodged that spell, if I had practiced that sort of thing more._

Bellatrix fixed her eyes on him. "Neville, your father wants you to."

He sighed. "Fine. Who am I working with first?" He hoped it wasn't Avery again - Avery was a bloody coward, and had an annoying habit of making sure to stand at least three metres away from him and keeping a shield up for the whole lesson. _Honestly. He's part of the Inner Circle. Maybe we ought to replace him with Travers._

"Rabastan," said Bellatrix, and Neville smiled. He liked Rabastan, because they were very similar. "Then with Rosier. He wants to show you how to be a bit more subtle, I think."

"I don't do subtle," Neville grumbled, but he stood up. Harry chortled.

"Who am I with?" Harry asked.

"Greyback," replied Bellatrix. "And then Regulus."

Neville added a touch of legilimency to see what Harry would be doing. Stealth with Greyback and something else with Regulus - Bellatrix didn't appear to know. He sighed in frustration and withdrew from her mind.

"Sounds good to me," said Harry. "We should get going."

"Probably," agreed Neville. "And I wouldn't want to keep Greyback waiting, Harry."

"Don't tell me he scares you," teased Harry. Had Harry been anyone else except Father - even Bellatrix or Lucius - Neville would have wandlessly slammed them into the wall for impudence. He hated being teased, though he knew Harry was only doing it for a reaction. He didn't mean to hurt him.

His face still went red, even as he tried to reign in his embarrassment. "He does not! He's more afraid of me than I am of him!"

"That," said Bellatrix, "is probably true."

"He's part of the Inner Circle. They're not afraid of us," said Harry assertively.

Bellatrix shook her head. "Not afraid of you, but of what you can do. They like you, yes, but you do scare us sometimes with your power and talent. None of us could hope to best you except in certain areas - so when we have to teach those areas to you, it can feel as though we're making ourselves vulnerable."

"Oh," said Harry. "I should have realised that." Neville could hear his unspoken words. _Why didn't I pay more attention?_ He felt a surge of affection for his brother.

"Don't blame yourself, Harry," said Neville. "You don't have to know everything about everyone."

"Easy for you to say. I'm no legilimens," said Harry bitterly.

"Stop it," said Neville. "You're not a legilimens and I'm not a Parselmouth. Calm down, Harry. You don't have to do everything. We work together. Remember? Don't think you've failed."

Harry turned his emerald green eyes onto Neville. "You're telling me not to think I've failed. So why do you?"

Harry's words caught him off guard. "W-what?" he managed, then cursed himself for stuttering. "I mean, what are talking about?"

"Don't deny it, Neville. You've been going around as if everything's fine but I don't have to be a legilimens to see you're suffering. You think you failed when you let that spell through."

He couldn't breathe. "No - I don't think that -"

"You do," said Harry softly. "And it wasn't your fault. The spell was aimed at me. And you can't dodge everything. There was no harm done, Neville, so let it go. It was just a brief mistake."

"And what if a mistake gets one of us captured or killed, Harry? What then?" His voice was steady now. He knew it _had_ been a failure, and he was going to get past it, but he needed to pay for it first. "The fact that everything went fine was luck, Harry. You know we don't fight half so well on our own. We need each other, and I left you while you needed me."

"Don't!" said Harry fiercely, grabbing Neville by the shoulders with an intensity that shocked him. "Don't think like that, brother! It was not your fault, it was Potter's, or it was just a mistake. Stop thinking that you stuffed up majorly because I know you won't let it happen again. We can move past this."

"I -" Neville gulped at the fierce look of protection in Harry's eyes. _He really thinks I'm suffering because of this. Maybe I am. Maybe he's right._ "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Harry relaxed and pulled him into a hug. "You don't need to be." Then he looked him in the eye again. "And next time you think you failed, come tell me, you prat. Stop walking around like everything's fine because I'll be able to tell, okay?"

"Okay," said Neville. "And now we really should get going."

"We should," Harry agreed, straightening up. "Let's go."

* * *

"FRED! GEORGE! COME DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

Ashton and the others winced at Mrs Weasley's shout. Fred and George exchanged glances before heading downstairs, looking apprehensive. Ginny stuffed her fingers in her ears, waiting for Mrs Weasley to begin shouting again.

"I TOLD YOU TO STOP WITH THIS JOKE SHOP IDEA AND THINK ABOUT A PROPER CAREER! AND WHAT DO I SEE NOW? I GO INTO YOUR ROOM TO SWEEP IT OUT AND WHAT DO I FIND?"

Hermione stuffed her fingers in her ears, too. Ron walked over to the doorway and gently shut the door, but it did little to cut out the sound.

"DOXY VENOM? LACEWING FLIES? TENTACULA PODS? WOULD YOU CARE TO EXPLAIN WHAT EXACTLY YOU ARE DOING?"

"Skiving Snackboxes," said George immediately. "Part of a new range of sweets we came up with. We just perfected the Canary Creams."

"Yes, and now we're starting the Puking Pastilles, but it's a proving a bit tricky," said Fred, equally unconcernedly.

"I TOLD YOU TO GET RID OF THIS RUBBISH! HOW DO YOU EXPECT TO GET INTO THE MINISTRY IF ALL YOU CAN DO IS MAKE SWEETS?"

"We don't want to go to the ministry, Mum," Fred explained. "We want to run a joke shop."

"AND YOU THINK A JOKE SHOP IS A SUITABLE CAREER -"

"Silencio," whispered Hermione, pointing her wand at the door. The noises from the hall ceased. "That's better."

"About time," muttered Ginny. "My ears were about to fall off."

"I can see why she's angry, though," said Hermione. "Some of the stuff they're doing is really dangerous - not to mention pointless - "

"Don't you start, Hermione," said Ron. "They're going to run a joke shop and they're going to be great at it, whatever Mum thinks, even if they end up getting disowned or something. So leave off them, okay?"

"But it's very irresponsible!" said Hermione earnestly. "A career at the ministry would be far more rewarding."

"For someone like you, Hermione," said Ashton. "But they're not like that. They'll be far better at running a joke shop than filling out forms."

She bit her lip, unwilling to admit it. Ron sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Mum's just letting out her steam," said Ginny. "She's really nervous now - with the whole clock thing, I mean, and You-Know-Who coming back."

Ashton nodded. Every hand on Mrs Weasley's clock had recently moved to 'Mortal Peril'. Mrs Weasley had been terrified when she saw that, and had checked with that Potters, who owned a similar clock that Mrs Weasley had given them. The hands on it, too, all pointed to 'Mortal Peril'. Ashton had tried not to be unnerved by it, but it was difficult. He'd get up in the morning and go downstairs only to be told he was in danger of dying. It wasn't a nice feeling, and it had distressed his mother as well. Particularly as he was a prime target for Voldemort. If anyone was in danger of death now, he was.

He listened as Mrs Weasley continued to rant, and wondered why he had ever thought his life could be simple.

* * *

Harry ducked behind a tree, wishing he was allowed to use magic. A disillusionment charm would mean he needn't hide like this. But both Greyback and his father thought it was important for him to learn to use stealth without magic. He could find himself in a situation where he didn't have a wand, after all.

Tenebris had been irritated at having to keep quiet, but at least he was obedient. He was curled around Harry's arm and neck, his head by Harry's ear, keeping watch behind him so Harry didn't have to. It was like having eyes at the back of his head.

Harry heard Greyback walking through the forest, not bothering to disguise his steps through the pine needles. Most Aurors and Order members were not particularly good at stealth, despite it being part of their training program. Greyback was coming towards him, and he suppressed a groan. If Greyback saw him, he failed.

He glanced at the tree he had ducked behind. There were some low branches he could grab to haul himself up. He paused, weighing up the risk of being heard with his other options, before pulling himself into the tree and crouching on a branch above Greyback's head.

As a werewolf, Greyback was the perfect person to teach him stealth. While he knew Fenrir preferred the direct, if clumsy approach, he was also a master of staying hidden and moving silently. Fenrir walked under the tree Harry was in and kept going, perhaps thinking the Heir had managed to get past the trees. Harry tensed his muscles and prepared for the leap.

He jumped out of the tree and landed on Fenrir's back, knocking him to the ground. Greyback exhaled sharply as he hit the ground and Harry rolled off him, getting to his feet. Fenrir was winded for a moment but managed to get up.

"All right, you win that one," said Fenrir irritably, brushing pine needles off his robes. "Climbed a tree, did you?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "Did you hear me?"

"No," said Greyback. "Good work today. We should go back to the Lair; Regulus is probably looking for you."

"Okay," said Harry. "Guess we're finished here anyway."

* * *

"You want to _what?_"

James sucked in a breath as Lily stared at the headmaster in disbelief. "You- you want to _train _him to fight Voldemort? I thought you said love was the answer! Why does he need training?" she protested.

"Lily," said Albus calmingly. "I know you only want what's best for Ashton. But he has to learn. Love may not be enough this time. Voldemort has two heirs. Ashton has to be able to face them, as well. He needs to unlock his potential."

James ran his fingers through his hair, a common habit when he was worried. "But he's just a kid," he tried.

"And I suspect Voldemort's heirs are children, too. From what we've seen of them, it is highly probable they are sixteen or seventeen - under or only just of age. Ashton is not much younger than they are. I'm sure that magical prowess, combined with love, will be the way to win this time."

Lily seemed reluctant still. "But why Ash?"

"He is the Chosen One," explained Dumbledore patiently. "The prophecy clearly states - 'the Chosen One shall face him' - so Ashton must be ready."

"He's a child. It's not fair on him! Would you ask any other child his age to make this big a sacrifice?"

"No," said Dumbledore gravely. He sounded much, much older than he was. "I would not ask it of him, either, were it not necessary. We gave Ashton the best childhood possible, but in the end, he is going to have to face Voldemort. If he does not win whatever duel or contest occurs there, the Wizarding World is doomed."

"It's all up to Ash, then," said James. He sounded slightly shell-shocked.

"Yes," said Albus softly, "but we will help him along the way as much as we can."

Lily nodded, but her eyes were tear-stained. Her children were destined for suffering. Harry was dead. Ashton had the weight of the world on his shoulders - a burden he was far too young for, but a burden he had to take up.

For the greater good.

* * *

"Well done, Neville, well done! Your magical skills really are amazing!"

Neville shrugged off Rabastan's praise. "All thanks to my father," he said. "If he hadn't taken me in, I'd be nothing." _If it weren't for him and my brother, I'd still be blindly following the light. I'd be under Dumbledore's thumb._ He shivered slightly at the thought.

Rabastan grinned maniacally. "You and the rest of us," he said. "It's all thanks to him, isn't it? The light thinks they've won - but they haven't. They aren't going to win, and that's because the Dark Lord wills it."

Neville nodded. His father had done more for him than even his own parents. He hadn't displayed any magical talent at all until he was eight, and his parents had barely protested when his Great-Uncle Algie had pushed him off Blackpool Pier and dangled him out of the window by his ankles. And they said they cared. They said they were good, that they were light. The light was corrupt. They were not good. No one was truly good. At least the dark would admit that.

_Light blinds you,_ thought Neville. _And while it takes time to adjust your eyes to the dark, you can see in it._ He swore to himself he would never, ever blindly follow the light again.

"Let's try that once more," said Rabastan, changing the subject. "Malediccio!"

Neville's shield went up instinctively. That was the whole point of Rabastan's training - teaching him to use instinctive magic. The curse bounced off his shield and hit the wall, dissipating into sparks. He couldn't hide his grin. He would never be hit by a stray spell again.

The malediccio curse was a powerful dark spell - one that caused the person to turn psychopathic for a period or until the curse was lifted. If Neville's shield could block that, it could block anything short of unforgivables. He was becoming more powerful.

And that could only be a good thing.

* * *

"For crying out loud, this is ridiculous!" Hermione snapped, scrunching up the newspaper and throwing it across the room. "And unfair! How can they -"

"Hermione, calm down!" said Ron, shocked at seeing her so fierce. Everyone else had looked up from their breakfasts and was looking at her, similar expressions on their faces. No one was used to seeing her so fierce.

Ashton slid out of his seat and fetched the newspaper. Hermione made as if to get up, but then sat back down. "Don't read it, Ashton," she said quietly.

He hesitated, but smoothed it out and scanned the first line of print. It almost made his heart stop. He was used to media attention, but this - this was -

"Let me see," said Ron, trying to see it. Ashton twisted and started to read. It was ridiculous - what did they expect of him?

**Ashton Potter - Our Saviour in This Time of Darkness**

**"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, everyone know that now," says new Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour, who became minister after Cornelius Fudge resigned last week. "But we're going to fight him again, and this time he's going to have a real fight on his hands, because we've got Ashton Potter on our side."**

**Ashton Potter is a well-known celebrity because of his defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named last time he came to power, and his status as the Boy-Who-Lived. But new evidence says that he is more than that - he is the Chosen One of a prophecy, and destined to destroy He-Who-must-Not-Be-Named. **

**"Well, obviously, he's got to be immensely powerful," says Dawlish, and Auror in the Ministry. "I mean, he reflected the killing curse - cast by You-Know-Who himself! So he's got lots of magical power, and of course we all know about the Chamber of Secrets incident in his second year. He defeated a basilisk! I'd say we're going to win this war far quicker than last time."**

**Concern recently arose over He-Who-must-Not-Be-Named's two heirs. It has been confirmed they are responsible for several murders and have lead multiple Death Eater raids. But the wizarding world need not fear - Ashton Potter will be able to defeat them.**

**"He's our saviour," says one ministry official who did not wish to be named. "He saved us once, he can do it again."**

**Some are unsure whether it is fair to place the fate of the wizarding world in the hands of a teenager. But Ashton Potter has not been considered a child for a long time. He is the Boy-Who-Lived, and his life has never been normal.**

**For starters, his achievements. He got through the death of his twin brother and defeated He-Who-must-Not-Be-Named with the only mark from the battle being a heart-shaped scar on his forehead. In his second year at Hogwarts, he defeated a basilisk and closed the Chamber of Secrets, saving the school and the life of Ginny Weasley, daughter of ministry official Arthur Weasley. Most adults haven't gone through that, so we can conclude that Ashton is not a normal boy.**

**Dumbledore has often been heard saying that love will defeat He-Who-must-Not-Be-Named - and he should know, as he defeated Grindelwald, the last Dark Lord. The heart-shaped scar on Ashton's forehead represents love, sources claim. He-Who-must-Not-Be-Named cannot love, so it is with this power he will be defeated by our saviour, Ashton Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and the Chosen One.**

**Article By Rita Skeeter**

Ashton reread the article in disbelief, and didn't protest as Ron snatched it from his grasp and read it. He was in shock. He knew he was a target, but somehow it hadn't crossed his mind that he would be expected to defeat Voldemort.

The Chosen One. He bit his lip. He'd never been comfortable with titles, and the newspaper had just labelled him as a saviour. But he'd been five years old when he defeated Voldemort. It had been thanks to his brother that he had. The power of innocent sacrifice wouldn't work this time - and he would never wish for it to. There was a reason innocent sacrifice was so powerful. Because it was wrong. So completely and utterly wrong.

"Hey, Ash - mate -" Ron tried, putting his arm around him. Ashton blinked back tears. It was stupid to cry - and he was a Gryffindor, he shouldn't cry anyway. But it was too much; all too much for him to take. No wonder Hermione had tried to keep the newspaper away from him, and had gotten so upset about it.

He was upset, too, but in a different way.

"I'm - I'm fine," he managed to say, pulling away. "I just need some time to think, that's all." He stood up and exited the room, feeling everyone's eyes on him as he did so. Ron started towards him, but Hermione hissed at him to sit down again. He was grateful for that. He needed to think things through.

He flopped down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Saviour of the wizarding world. That was who he had been made out to be, and now he'd have to deal with the results. The one thing about the article that had struck him, though, was the mention of a prophecy. He knew there was a prophecy, but he had assumed that it was over. Finished with. He had assumed that his parents hadn't told him because it might bring up painful memories of Harry.

But that didn't seem to be the case. They hadn't told him because it was still in effect. And they were worried for him. It probably said something like this, something about him defeating Voldemort, or trying to.

He stood up, fists clenched. It didn't matter if he had to bribe, beg, manipulate or threaten his parents, he was going to find out about the prophecy.


	6. Tarnish the Soul

**Thank you to everyone who story alerted/favourited this story, and thank you especially to those of you who reviewed! I'm going to start replying to every review I get now (unless I'm swamped by them). I can't believe how much support this story has!**

**I promised a little action in this chapter - there's not too much, but there's some. Hopefully there'll be more next chapter. This chapter mostly switches between Harry and Ashton.**

**Anyway, here's chapter five! Hope you enjoy!**

A Stolen Childhood

Chapter Five: Tarnish the Soul

"Why did you never tell me?"

Albus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, watching as the angry teen in front of him glared accusingly at him through emerald-green eyes. It was inevitable that he would be aggravated after seeing the article in the newspaper. Not for the first time, Albus wished the Daily Prophet were more tactical.

"Why not? I'm apparently supposed to be some 'saviour of the wizarding world', but you've never told me anything! Why did you keep it a secret?" Ashton was normally far more contrite than this, but the burden that had just been placed on him was immense, and no fifteen-year-old would have even the slightest idea of what to do.

James opened his mouth as if to say something, and Lily looked more sorrowful at each of Ashton's words, but neither of them said anything as Albus began to explain. "We wanted you to be normal, Ashton," he said. "There was no proof Voldemort would return - all evidence suggested he had been destroyed, and that even if he did return, it would take twenty years or more. We did not expect him to return so suddenly, and for him to have two heirs as well."

Ashton scowled, a look that was unbecoming to the young Gryffindor. "But there was a prophecy. Why are you still keeping me in the dark about that? And how am I supposed to save the world? It's not like I can go up to Voldemort and hug him in the middle of a battle or something! You keep talking about love and how it's going to defeat him, but how?"

"Patience, my boy, I will explain. One of the reasons we have never told you about the prophecy is that it is extremely confusing and abstract, and we only know half of it anyway."

The teen's mouth dropped open in surprise. "What?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Sybil Trelawney was interrupted halfway through. She said the rest of the prophecy later, and the only person who heard it refuses to tell us."

"Who was that?" said Ashton, uncharacteristically demanding.

Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes. "Sebastian Selwyn, one of the Death Eaters who accompanied Snape when he overheard the prophecy. He followed Professor Trelawney and heard the other half of the prophecy."

"So Voldemort knows the full prophecy?"

"No. Selwyn was apprehended by Aurors and sentenced to Azkaban. Voldemort doesn't know there is a second half to the prophecy, and Selwyn is becoming... quite mad." Albus hesitated, then said, "To answer your earlier question, about love -"

"Yes?" asked Ashton, with a look that meant Albus had better give a good explanation, or else.

"When your brother died for you, he created a shield between you and Voldemort. Just because he is dead does not mean the shield has gone. Instead, it is kept alive by two things."

"What?" Ashton asked impatiently.

"Your ability to love," said Dumbledore. "He died for you because he loved you. And your innocence. It was an innocent sacrifice of life that saved you, Ashton, so your innocence keeps it alive. That was part of the reason we have kept things from you for so long." He considered, then decided to tell him. "But love may not be enough to defeat him a second time. Love is one of the most powerful magical concepts, but Voldemort has spent a long time honing his craft. It is likely he had figured out how you defeated him and found a way to prevent it happening again."

"So you're saying we're doomed?" asked Ashton incredulously. "That since love won't work, Voldemort has basically won?"

"No," said Dumbledore. "There's still the prophecy, and over the next year at Hogwarts I am going to train you."

Ashton stared in disbelief. "Train me? Why only now?"

"Because we wanted you to be normal, Ash," said Lily quietly, and Ashton turned to face her. "We had no idea Voldemort might return, and you'd already defeated Voldemort before, when your - when Harry d-died." She looked like she was about to cry. "You were the Boy-Who-Lived, and you've had to cope with so much - all the media, and the pressure, and your brother dying... we didn't want to put any more burdens on your shoulders. It's not fair that you have to do this."

Ashton turned back to Dumbledore, who nodded. "It isn't fair you life has been shrouded in darkness," said Dumbledore. "We wanted for you to be as normal as possible. To grow up with little cares and worries, rather than adult ones." He took a deep breath. "But now Voldemort has returned that's not possible anymore."

The young boy looked taken aback. "So you kept everything from me... because you wanted me to be a normal kid?" He resisted the urge to smooth his hair down over his scar, as he often did when he felt self-conscious.

"No child should have to cope with what you have, Ashton," said Albus gently. "Most people don't know or understand what it's been like for you to lose your twin."

Ashton nodded slowly. "I know. People don't..." he fumbled, looking for the right words. "People think I didn't know him. I mean, I was five, so people think that I just remember that he was my brother and that's all. But I remember loads more about him. He wasn't just my brother, he was my twin." He shook his head. "I'm not doing a good job of explaining."

"You're doing fine," said James. "I saw how close the two of you were - you did everything together; you were inseparable. Half of the time I could barely tell you apart."

The fifteen-year-old brushed tears away, determined not to cry again. Albus nodded. "Did you have any other questions, Ashton?"

"Yes," said Ashton quietly. "What did the prophecy say?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I thought you might ask that, my boy. I won't tell you now, but only because I want you to hear the full prophecy at once - both halves."

"But you said Selwyn wasn't go to tell," Ashton replied.

"No, but if we go to the Hall of Prophecies, you can take the prophecy and hear it in full," said Dumbledore.

"Why haven't you gone before?" Ashton asked.

"Because prophecies can only be retrieved by those they are made about," explained Albus. Ashton blushed. He knew that, but he had forgotten.

"What if he can't retrieve it? What if it wasn't made for him after all?" enquired James.

"It was. The only other who were eligible were Harry and Neville," said Albus. "It was made about someone 'born to those who thrice defied him' and 'born as the seventh month dies'." He did not need to add that both Harry and Neville were now dead, brutally murdered by Lord Voldemort. The atmosphere was morbid enough without adding that to it.

"When are we going to get it?" asked Ashton.

"When school starts again," said Dumbledore firmly. Ashton was about to protest, but Lily gave him a look that meant he should be quiet. "You'll have enough to handle until then."

"Fine," muttered Ashton, scuffing his feet mutinously. "Can I go now?"

"You may," said Dumbledore, and the black-haired boy left without another word.

"Albus?" asked Lily softly.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Will he... he will be alright won't he? We have to keep him safe - not just from Voldemort, but from others, from people who don't understand him."

"Don't worry, Lily," said Albus kindly, patting her hand reassuringly. "We will keep him safe. I promise."

* * *

"All right, what are you teaching me?" asked Harry, crossing his arms over his chest. Tenebris slithered around Harry's neck and hissed softly.

"Come on, can't I give my favourite godson a hug first?" teased Regulus. "Before we get onto the boring lessons?"

"I don't like hugs," Harry grumbled. "And you're technically not my godfather, Lupin is."

"Yeah, well, my biological brother is your biological brother's godfather, and seeing as both of us severely dislike our brothers -"

"_That's putting it mildly_," Tenebris hissed. Harry felt his blood boil at the thought of Ashton Potter.

"- it would be logical to assume that I am _your_ godfather. Besides, the Dark Lord said I was to act as your godfather, and what has Lupin actually done for you?" asked Regulus.

"Well, he does think I'm dead, so it's a bit hard for him to do anything." Harry shrugged, and Regulus laughed.

"Let's get on with it, then," he said.

"So what are you teaching me?" asked Harry again.

"_How to care for snakes properly?_" suggested Tenebris. "_We need twelve rats for breakfast -_"

"_Be quiet,_" Harry reprimanded.

"Well, the Dark Lord found out that I'm much better at creating spells than Rodolphus Lestrange is, so he told me to take over teaching you spell creation," Regulus told him.

Harry grinned. "And here I was thinking you'd be teaching me something I'm rubbish at, like occlumency or something."

"So I take it you haven't got any better at that?"

"Last time I got so frustrated I blasted Mulciber across the room and broke his arm by accident," Harry admitted, feeling himself go slightly red at the memory of how he'd lost control. "I really try, but..."

"It's okay, no biggie," said Regulus, waving a hand as if Occlumency was the least necessary thing in the world. "So! Spell creation. I saw your latest spell at the meeting. _Succendo, _was it?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Latin for fire, kindle, inflame, that sort of thing. It took forever to find out how to make it work on a person."

"Why not just take the direct approach? What's Latin for 'burn person'?" asked Regulus.

"Adolebit persona," said Harry. "It takes too long to say."

"True, true," said Regulus. "Anyway, we should get to making up a new spell."

"We need a desired effect first," he pointed out.

"Well, yes," said Regulus. "How about a spell that's not a battle spell?"

"Like what? A social one?" asked Harry. Suddenly, he had an idea. "Like a spell that would reveal people's hidden secrets or something?"

"That's a good idea," said Regulus. "So, now we need an incantation."

"_Tenebris is beautiful?_" Tenebris suggested. Harry rolled his eyes.

He thought about it, listing possible incantations in his head. _Tell secret in Latin is _dico secretum. He tried casting it, but it did nothing. _So not that. Maybe in some other magical language. Gaelic, maybe, but I think it would have already been discovered. _He frowned, going over various languages in his head.

It took him about two hours to hit upon the incantation, during which he would normally be frustrated. But Regulus knew him well enough to offer him tips only when he really needed them, and to make little suggestions every now and then to keep him going. Tenebris didn't really help, hissing suggestions that always translated into spells to give him a better breakfast or make his scales shinier. Harry finally decided upon the Galician, _contar segredo_, and cast it upon Regulus.

"Hey!" protested Regulus. Harry tutted and shook his head sadly. "Really, Regulus," he said. "Some of your secrets..."

"I shouldn't have let you find that spell. I need a defence now," muttered Regulus, going slightly red.

"Occlumency will probably work," said Harry, chortling softly.

"Well, we're done for the day," said Regulus firmly. "Back to battle spells next lesson, I think."

Harry laughed, and both of them left the room.

* * *

"So Professor Dumbledore's going to train you!" exclaimed Hermione. "Oh, Ash, you're so lucky! Can you imagine what sort of things you'll be learning? Powerful defence spells, maybe, or -"

"Hermione, slow down," said Ron firmly. "Give him a chance to catch his breath."

Ashton nodded gratefully and Hermione deflated slightly, but she still looked just as excited. Ginny, too, looked intrigued at the thought of training with Albus Dumbledore. "Did he tell you what you'd be doing?"

"All he said was 'training'" Ashton replied, flopping down into an armchair. "Stuff to defeat Voldemort, probably."

"_Don't say the name!_" hissed Ron, glancing around fearfully as if he expected Voldemort to suddenly appear in the room.

Ashton rolled his eyes. "Can't you just get used to it?"

"No," replied Ron.

"So you are the Chosen One then?" asked Ginny thoughtfully. She didn't sound malicious or anything - it sounded like she was worried for him. Why would she be worried for him?

"I don't know, and I won't until I hear the prophecy," he answered, unable to keep from sounding rueful. "And that won't be until school starts."

"So you get time off school? Wicked," said Ron enviously. Hermione shot him a reproving look.

"Ron! He'll probably go after lessons are over. I don't think Dumbledore would take him out of lessons just because of a prophecy - I mean, this is OWL year, we need to be prepared!"

Ron shook his head slowly. "You think schoolwork is more important than whether or not Ash has to defeat the darkest wizard we've ever known?" he asked incredulously. "Because I think that's _slightly _more important."

Hermione blushed. "I didn't mean it like that - I mean, he's the headmaster, and -"

"Don't worry, Hermione," said Ashton. "I know what you meant."

"It's all rather scary though, isn't it?" asked Ginny nervously. "With You-Know-Who coming back, and his sons - what did Fred and George say they were called?"

"Blood and Shadow," replied Hermione promptly, to no one's surprise.

"Yeah, that's it. And he's been, you know, practicing magic and stuff. Ash, you saw - you saw what his sons could do, what they're capable of," said Ginny. Ashton nodded. Two days after the raid that left his father and godfather grievously wounded, and he still couldn't get the image out of his head.

_And I'm supposed to defeat them? Them and Voldemort? Five wizards couldn't defeat his sons, so how can I? Love can't save me. My brother's dead, and I don't want someone to jump in front of a curse for me._ He rubbed his scar. It had recently started prickling, but he hadn't mentioned it to anyone. It was probably nothing.

"Hey."

Ginny and Hermione yelped in surprise as Fred and George apparated into the room. "Can't you just walk through the door?" asked Ginny, clutching her heart and breathing slightly faster than normal.

"Sorry, Gin," said George, not sounding particularly sorry. "But no-can-do. Mum wants you four down in the kitchen, helping with the dishes. She's got them all washed and they're ready to be dried."

"What about you two?" Ron demanded.

"Well -" said Fred, looking sideways at his twin.

"- as we are now of age -" continued George.

"- we thought -"

"- it would be prudent -"

"- if we did our bit with magic -"

"- and left the rest of the dishes for you," they finished simultaneously, smirking at the incredulous faces looking at them.

With that, they apparated away. "Bastards," Ron muttered angrily. "They could have helped us."

"Let's go," said Ginny, with an air of getting the worst over quickly. "Mum will do a nut if we don't go now."

"That's something I want to avoid," Ron agreed, and they left the room.

* * *

"Father? Why did you call for us?" Harry asked. He looked up and met Voldemort's eyes - something even the Inner Circle had trouble mustering up enough courage to do. Neville met his eyes as well, having as much courage as his brother - perhaps more so.

"I have a mission for you," he told them. Instantly alert, the boys straightened up and reflexively tensed a little. Often when they had a mission it meant that there was bad news coming, and their father tended to... _overreact,_ sometimes. "The Order is becoming more problematic. So I want you to put down one of their own. Do either of you know Elphias Doge?"

"I've heard of him, but I don't know much about him," replied Neville.

"He is one of Dumbledore's personal friends, in fact. An older man, yes, but not so old he has grown weary. He will still put up a fight. Legilimens!" Neither Harry nor Neville resisted as their father placed the necessary information inside their minds. It was a far more efficient way of doing things than being told exactly what to do.

"Wear your masks," Voldemort instructed as they left. "Some of my lower ranked Death Eaters are returning to the fold."

"Yes, Father," Harry replied. He and Neville left the room after fixing on their silver masks. They hadn't had a mission since they'd fought the Order at Crouch manor, and savoured the chance for real action. Even if it was just a simple murder.

Harry rubbed his prickling scar. It was curiously shaped, like a lightning bolt. He knew where he'd got it - Father had of course explained that to him. It had started flaring up more often now, but he tried to conceal it, as Neville tended to worry over him when it did.

* * *

Ashton's prickling scar started to throb as the night went on, and he tried to conceal it without much luck. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny noticed very quickly. Predictably, Ron asked him in a fearful voice what was wrong, and Hermione performed a clever numbing spell that settled the pain.

"There; that's better, isn't it Ash?" she asked, using her wand to make the tea-towel dry the dishes.

"Much better," he said, rubbing it ruefully. "I wish I knew what was going on. I don't know why my scar keeps hurting."

"It's to do with You-Know-Who, isn't it?" asked Ginny. She looked afraid at even saying 'You-Know-Who', which was ridiculous. There wasn't anything to be afraid of, saying Voldemort's name - let alone saying 'You-Know-Who'.

"He's the one who gave it to me," Ashton said bluntly. "So probably."

"Maybe it hurts when he does?" suggested Hermione carefully. Ashton shook his head; he knew that wasn't it.

"No, I don't think so. Right now... I think he's angry, or something," said Ashton, frowning and trying to analyse the pain. "That's why it's hurting."

For a moment, no one said anything. Then Ginny said slowly "So you can - when he's angry - you can tell? Your scar hurts when he's angry?" She was pale. Hermione was, too, and Ron's face strongly resembled custard. Ashton rubbed his scar irritably as the pain died right down.

"Yes," he said. "But whatever it was that made him angry, it's gone now." His forehead was starting to feel cold with the effects of the numbing spell. "Hermione - could you -?"

"Oh! Right, sorry," she said, hastily performing the counter-spell. "Has your scar - I mean, has it hurt like this before?"

"A bit," he muttered, not wanting to tell them how often he had felt it prickling in the past week. They would just worry about him and nothing productive would come of it. None of them could explain it properly. He needed to talk to Professor Dumbledore again - but after their last tense conversation, he resolved to wait a few days before asking him about it.

"Do your parents know?" asked Ron. Ashton shook his head. "Mate, they'll want to. I know mine would go mental if I kept something like this from them. Your parents are a little laid-back -"

"A little?" murmured Ashton, thinking of all the times his father had behaved like an excitable six-year-old.

"- but something like this, they'll want to know about it," Ron finished, as if Ashton hadn't interrupted.

Ashton paused for a moment, considering. Should he tell his parents? But his last conversation with them had been tense, as well. He didn't know how things were between them. _Besides, what would I say? Hi, Mum, my scar hurts when Voldemort gets angry, but it's all good now, he's calmed down? That'll go down well._

"No," he said. Ginny opened her mouth to say something but he cut across her. "Not yet. I'm not going to tell anyone else just yet, and I don't want you guys to tell anyone else just yet. It's not a big problem. Curse scars act up from time to time, don't they?" he asked, directing his question at Hermione.

"Well, I don't know, they're really rare," said Hermione, biting her lip thoughtfully. "I think so, but -"

"See? This is probably normal," said Ashton, with a lot more conviction than he felt.

Hermione shook her head. "Ash, with you, nothing is normal. You killed a basilisk in our second year, and you fought Pettigrew in our third, and now you have to - I mean, you're the Chosen One," she finished hurriedly, trying to avoid the touchy topic.

"Don't worry, Hermione," he said. "I won't go mad if you mention it. I've accepted it now. I'm the one who has to defeat Voldemort -" he rolled his eyes as everyone flinched "- and I can deal with that now. Professor Dumbledore explained stuff to me. I'm fine with it now."

"Oh - okay," said Hermione, relaxing. "But you get my point."

"Yeah," he said. Normal. Just once, he'd like to be normal.

_I hate prophecies. A prophecy got my brother and my friend killed. I won't let this one kill me._

* * *

They arrived outside the home of Elphias Doge and disabled the wards quickly. This was just an in and out mission - they didn't need to hang around, and shouldn't for any longer than necessary. They walked up the path to the door and Harry paused, considering. He turned to his brother.

"Shall we knock?" he asked softly, cold amusement in his voice. Neville smirked behind his mask.

"Of course. We know how to be polite, after all. We're not savages."

"It's near midnight. He might be asleep." Harry lifted the knocker and knocked several times. "Draw your wand!" he whispered.

They drew their wands and waited, but no one came to the door. "Is he asleep?" Neville wondered aloud.

"Possibly," Harry answered, twisting the doorknob and stepping in.

The interior of the home was dark but had an air of extravagance. Doge was old, and his style of decorating reflected that. Neville did a quick check and confirmed an earlier suspicion. There was only one outside door in the house, and it was the one they had come through.

"_So who is this Elphias Doge?_" Tenebris asked.

"_Tell you later, Tenebris. Can you keep quiet for now?_" Harry replied. Tenebris sulked for a bit, but relented.

Harry wandlessly locked the door again and headed for the stairs, his footsteps soft and carefully placed. Neville was behind him, having had fewer lessons in stealth and far more in actual combat. "What sort of weapons have we got?" asked Neville softly.

Harry passed him a few knives. "These, and our wands," he replied, readying a blade in his other hand. They crept to the top of the stairs and paused on the landing, trying to identify where Doge would be.

"Try that one," Neville suggested, indicating the closest door. Harry nodded and opened it slowly, so that it didn't creak. No need to alert anyone to their presence just yet. Murders were far more easily carried out in silence. That was one of the first lessons that had been drilled into Harry's head when he changed his loyalty to dark at age six.

Harry slid slowly into the room and Neville followed him. Doge was lying on a bed on the other side, obviously asleep. Suspicious of how easy this was, they checked the wards again, but there was nothing. The wards were still down. It actually was this simple.

He stepped forward, raising his wand. "On three?" he asked, looking sideways at his brother.

Neville's eyes looked determined behind his silver mask, and he raised his wand. "On three."

"One..."

Harry steeled his nerve.

"Two..."

Tenebris hissed from his place in Harry's sleeve.

"Three!"

"Avada Kedavra!" they said together. Twin jets of green light struck the sleeping Doge. He jolted as they hit his chest and his eyes snapped open, already glazed over. Doge was dead. The mission was complete.

* * *

In Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Ashton's scar erupted with pain, and he started to scream.

* * *

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	7. Rampant Emotion

**Aaaaand chapter six is complete! Thanks to all my loyal reviewers, and also to people who story alerted and favourited! The more you review, the more motivated I am and the faster I type! (also, I'm stuck on this story, it won't leave me alone; it's even invaded my dreams!) **

**This chapter has a mix of a lot of things in it. A little bit of mystery, some hurt/comfort sort of stuff - basically the aftermath of Doge's death. There's two or three longer scenes, a broken-ish scene, a couple of short bits, and a part where Dumbledore has one of his long thinks (which he seems to do quite often). Anyway, enjoy, and please review!**

A Stolen Childhood

Chapter Six: Rampant Emotion

Lily recognised the screams as soon as she heard them, and raced upstairs to the room Ashton was sleeping in, not caring that it was almost midnight and she'd just about fallen asleep, or that she'd probably woken James by hurrying out so quickly. Ashton was hurt! What mattered was getting to him.

His door was open when she came to it. Ron, who was sleeping in the same room, was shaking his friend and attempting to rouse him from where he lay on his bed. Ginny, the twins, and Hermione hovered behind him, obviously wanting to do something but unsure of what would help. Ashton lay on the bed, curled up in pain and clutching at his forehead.

A look of relief crossed over Hermione's panicked face when she saw Lily. "Mrs Potter! Ron came and got us immediately - he just started screaming about a minute ago and we can't figure out what to do!" She backed away from the bed, making a path for Lily to get to her son.

Ron was shaking him. "Ash! Ash, mate, what is it? What's wrong?" he said desperately. He let go when he noticed Lily. His face was white with fear, fear for his friend and fear of what was happening. "Can you help him?" he pleaded anxiously.

"What happened?" she asked, over the sound of her son screaming.

"He just - he just started screaming a minute ago! It woke me up and I got Hermione and Ginny - the twins heard him and apparated here - I think it's his scar -"

"His scar? What about his scar?" she asked, desperate for any information that could help.

"He's said it's prickled before - and this evening it was throbbing - but nothing like this has ever happened!" Ron got out.

Lily's heart was racing. Ashton's scar had hurt before? Why hadn't she noticed? Why hadn't he said anything? Instinctively, though, she knew the answer to that - Ashton didn't like to make a fuss or be worried over. Sometimes, though, she wished he was a little more open with them.

Right now, though, they had to deal with the problem at hand. She stepped towards her son and tried to peel his fingers away from his scar. She managed eventually, and they came away covered in blood. Lily held in her gasp and tried to examine the scar as best she could while he convulsed in pain. _How can I make it stop? He needs help and I can't do anything!_

"Lily! Lily, what's going on?" James called from the doorway, though she could barely hear him over Ashton's cries of pain. Ron and Ginny quickly tried to explain, and then had to repeat themselves as Sirius and Remus arrived, and then several other Order members.

Ashton's scar was bleeding, and now that his hands were no longer pressing on it, blood started to trickle down the side of his forehead and onto the sheet. "Someone get tissues!" she snapped out, and heard two subsequent 'pop's as Fred disapparated to get the tissues and apparated back in, handing them to her. She tried to staunch the flow of bleeding by pressing down on the scar with them. They were quickly soaked in blood.

Suddenly Ashton stopped convulsing as he fainted with the pain. She panicked slightly, but it seemed to be all right - the bleeding stopped, at any rate. Lily heard Ginny let out a gasp and she glanced at the girl, puzzled, before turning back to Ashton. Then she noticed it too.

He was glowing - a soft, golden glow of light, faint but unmistakably there. James hurried to her side and wrapped his arms around her, murmuring, "Oh Merlin, oh Merlin, what's happening to my son?" She hugged him back, tears pricking her eyes as she recalled his agonised expression moments before he passed out. She was hurt, and she couldn't do anything to stop it. She didn't even understand why he was hurting. What kind of mother was she?

"If everyone except the Potters could go back to their beds," said Dumbledore clearly. "I would like to investigate what has happened to Ashton."

"I'm not leaving my godson," Sirius said stubbornly.

"He's my best mate," Ron said. "Besides, I sleep over there," he added, gesturing to his bed.

Albus sighed. "Very well, but if everyone else would please leave. It is rather crowded in here. Remus, would you mind finding a healer?"

"I could get Madam Pomfrey from Hogwarts," he suggested.

"Good idea," said Albus. "She won't object, I don't think."

Slowly everyone dispersed from the room. Ginny and Hermione cast worried looks at Ashton before shuffling slowly out, the last people to leave. Only James, Sirius, Lily, Ron, and Albus remained in the room, and the unconscious Ashton.

"Tell me what happened, Mr Weasley," said Albus gravely. Ron recounted what had happened, including the fact that Ashton's scar had hurt before, but never like this. When he had finished, Albus looked very worried and stepped up to Ashton's side, brushing his hair away from his scar so he could see it properly.

"He fainted just as you came in," Ron offered. "Do you know what's happened? What's that glow?"

"Did he tell you why he thought his scar had been hurting?" Albus asked.

Ron hesitated. "Well... yeah, he did. He didn't want us to say, but -" he cast a glance at Ashton, curled up in pain on the bed. "- well, he's in trouble, it's really hurting him." He took a deep breath. "He said... he said it hurt because You-Know-Who was angry. Like it was a connection or something."

Lily couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her mouth. Her son was suffering because of what Voldemort was feeling - how often would these attacks occur? Even when he was far away from Voldemort, surrounded by the impenetrable walls of Number twelve, Grimmauld Place (which they had temporarily moved to because Godric's Hollow wasn't safe anymore), he was suffering. She buried her head in her hands, tears leaking out of her eyes and rolling silently down her face.

James pulled her into an embrace. "Lily. Look at me," he said, sounding unusually serious. She did. "Ash will be fine. We'll look after him. He's going to be okay."

"Okay?" she whispered hoarsely, around the lump in her throat. "Okay? How is this okay, James? Even when Voldemort's nowhere near him -" she noticed Ron flinch out of the corner of her eye, but paid him no heed "- he still suffers, he's still in pain! How are we supposed to help him when don't even understand what's happened?"

"Lily, you need to calm down. We can't help Ash if you're breaking down like this. Stay strong for him, Lily," said James. She nodded, and swallowed a last sob, trying to calm down.

"We can't do anything for him now," said Albus sombrely. "We'll have to wait until Poppy gets here, or until he wakes up. That's all we can do."

Lily let out a sob she was unable to withhold. They could do nothing. She felt so utterly helpless.

* * *

Ashton had heard himself screaming, had heard his friends worrying over him, had heard his mother crying, but as though he was underwater and them above. He couldn't concentrate on anything other than the pain that was flooding him, waves upon waves of agony wracking his body. He screamed, clutching at his forehead, and felt his mother pull his fingers away, too weak to resist.

It was a relief to slip fully under. The pain faded to a dull throbbing and he felt his contracting muscles relax as it died down. He was drifting on a cloud, somewhere under the ocean, waves lapping his face and a throbbing headache that even invaded his subconscious.

And then he saw, images sliding by, slipping through his fingers as he tried to grab them. A silver mask... a pair of frosty brown eyes, meeting his own... he opened a door and headed up the stairs... through another door... his scar throbbed painfully as he passed a mirror and he saw himself, a green-eyed boy with a dark robes, a silver mask and a snake on his arm... he crept forward and saw the still body of a man, his chest gently rising and falling as he slept... two flashes of green light and the rising and falling stopped... rising... falling... rising... falling... the pain came back suddenly as he felt some part of him drift away... he stared at them man and faint bells of recognition rang in his head...

And then he emerged, and the pain faded away as he opened his eyes, fully conscious again. His hands flew to his forehead and came away with blood covering them. Ashton tried to sit up, but he felt to weak and collapsed back onto the bed.

"Ash! Mate, you okay?"

With difficulty, he raised his head to look at Ron, who helped him sit up. "Yeah... think so," he managed.

"You're glowing gold!"

He glanced down at himself. So he was... a shimmering aura of gold surrounded him before fading to nothingness. He started at himself for a moment, curious as to what it was, and then remembered what he had seen when he slipped under. He turned his head to Professor Dumbledore, standing on the other side of the bed to Ron.

He directed his words at Dumbledore, trying to ignore his parents, godfather, and best friend for the time being. He could deal with their worrying over him in a minute. This was important.

"Elphias..." he started then doubled over as the pain returned sharply before disappearing again. He looked back up at Dumbledore, who looked decidedly worried. "Elphias Doge is dead."

There was silence for a moment as no one could think what to say. Finally Sirius said, "How... how do you know?"

"I saw it," Ashton whispered quietly, waiting patiently as the waves of shock travelled around the room again.

"When?" asked James concernedly.

"Just now," he murmured. "When I was unconscious. The Dark Heirs killed him. As a... as a warning."

Dumbledore stood. "I understand you will have questions, but I ask that they wait until morning. Ashton has been through a lot tonight and he needs rest. He will be fine; he has merely confirmed something I already suspected. I ask that you come with me, and the rest of the Order who are here, to the house of Elphias Doge. The Dark Heirs may still be there."

They looked hesitant, so Ashton said, "I'll be fine, guys. It's not going to happen again for a while. You need to go see if they're there. Ron will be with me," he added, when they still looked unconvinced.

Sirius sighed and ruffled his hair. "You sure you'll be okay, Ash?" he asked.

He nodded. "I'll be fine. I just said that."

"Then let's go," said Sirius. "James - Lily - he _will_ be fine, and we have to go, now. Doge is dead. We need to see if we can track down the bastards who killed him."

The reminder of what had happened seemed to snap something in James, whose hazel eyes turned hard with determination. "You're right, Padfoot. Lily, we have to go."

She finally nodded reluctantly, and everyone except Ron and Ashton left the room. Ron looked at him with an unreadable expression.

"You okay, mate?" asked Ron. "You really freaked us out."

"I know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for that. I couldn't stop it, though. I swear that's never happened before."

"It's bad news, either way," said Ron. "Dumbledore looked rather grim when you told him."

"Elphias Doge was one of his personal friends," Ashton reminded him. "I expect that's why the Dark Heirs were told to kill him specifically."

"Don't let's talk about it," said Ron, shuddering. "You need to get some rest. It's almost midnight. Let's go back to sleep." He climbed back into bed. "Nox," he said, waving his wand, and the lights went out.

* * *

"Another mission, a success," said Harry, when they were back in their room at the Lair. "That was relatively simple, too."

"They rely too much on wards," Neville replied, sprawling out on his bed. "Take them down and they've got nothing. Ow! Sanguine, stop pecking me!" Sanguine gave Neville's wrist one last nip before flying back to his perch, feathers ruffled indignantly.

Tenebris coiled around Harry's arm. "_Why did I have to stay quiet?_" he hissed. "_Why could I not join in this kill?_"

"_Because we might have hit you with the curse, and because you might have woken him up_," Harry said. "_Nothing personal._"

"_Give me a rabbit to make up for it,_" Tenebris urged. Harry laughed.

"_Sorry, Tenebris, but it's one o'clock in the morning. We need to get some sleep,_" he told the snake. "I take it we'll be reporting to Father in the morning, Neville?"

"He knows we're back, so I think so," Neville replied. "Do we have a day off from training tomorrow? Rosier said something about it, but I'm not sure."

"Bella will tell us," Harry replied. "I guess it's time for bed now."

"Yeah, better keep ourselves alert."

"Goodnight, Neville."

"Goodnight, Harry."

* * *

In recent times, Albus was finding it more and more difficult to get to sleep. Often he had to give up entirely and go on thinking throughout the night. This, he could tell, would be one of those nights. He had suspected, when Ashton had received his scar, that a line of the prophecy had come to pass. Now it was confirmed.

_And the Dark Lord shall mark the one as his equal and shall mark the heart of the light..._

That part was fulfilled, he suspected. It could be no coincidence Ashton's scar was in the shape of a heart. But he had suspected that for years. There was nothing in the prophecy about his scar hurting. Or about him seeing visions of the Dark Heirs, either.

They had travelled to Elphias Doge's house and confirmed he was dead, then buried him and replaced the wards around his home so it couldn't be raided. No one had failed to notice Albus' deep sadness at the loss of his friend. He had known Elphias for many years, and though he tried not to show it, he had been shocked to the core when he Ashton told him. He had hardly believed it until he saw his dead friend for himself.

_What saddens me most, _he realised, _is that he was killed by two children. Children's souls should not be so tainted and ripped. Their innocence shouldn't be spoiled and corrupted. _He stroked his beard unhappily and reached for a sherbet lemon, but the bowl had run out.

Fawkes chirped unhappily and flew to Albus' shoulder. Albus scratched Fawkes' neck and let out a long, deep sigh. _Why, _he wondered, _is there never an easy solution? Must it turn out this way? This burden that has been placed on Ashton - to retain his love and innocence and destroy Voldemort and his heirs - is it truly necessary he is the one to carry it? He has lost so much already - his brother, his friend, a normal life with normal ambitions and dreams, a sense of security... surely we cannot ask him to go through anything more? He is a child._

_Why do we ask this of him, then? Surely an adult could better handle this prophecy? Why is he the Chosen One, other than the fact that he fulfils the requirements? It is neither right nor fair. _

But he knew why. It had to be a child. No one could love as children do, and Ashton's early losses had only served to make him more sensitive to others. The love of an adult was always earned. Children loved without asking themselves why, forming bonds when they first met people and then sticking by them for as long as they could. Love was the power the Dark Lord knew not. Childlike love. Innocence.

_Innocence is the heart of the matter. Innocence and love, as the two go hand in hand. We must do our best, then to keep Ashton's innocence intact. Only then do we stand a chance against Voldemort._

* * *

"Harry. I need to talk to you."

Harry turned. "Yes, father? About what?" Beside him, Neville twisted as well. They were on their way outside to meet with Draco and go for a long flying trip over the lake.

"Alone, Harry," said Voldemort. "This is important."

Harry nodded. "Tell Draco I'll be there in a minute, brother," he told Neville.

"Sure," Neville quietly. He had been quiet and withdrawn ever since they had come back from the house of Elphias Doge. Harry didn't know why - they had been on plenty of missions before. Killing someone wasn't new to him. He watched as Neville turned the corner and walked out of the Lair, before turning back to his father.

"What is it?" he asked. "What can't you say in front of Neville?"

Voldemort glared at him through ruby-red eyes. "It is _about_ Neville, Harry. Have you noticed how different he has been since he came back from killing Doge?"

"Of course," Harry replied. "Why?"

"I think he may... be feeling guilty."

Harry was stunned. "What? Why on earth would he be feeling guilty? He's not some pathetic child of the light, father, he's killed before! He can't be feeling guilty! You taught us not to feel guilt!"

"I did, and for a reason, or you'd always be moping around like this! Harry, listen to me. He knew Doge, remembered him, possibly even liked him when he was light. He came here when he was nine, Harry, four years after you. It takes twice as long to repair damage as it does to do it, Harry, so think on this. Eight years ago, what stage were you at? How did you feel after killing someone?"

Harry rocked back on his heels and thought about it. He had been seven. At seven, he had been perfectly willing to fire any curse, even unforgivables - in the heat of battle. He had murdered very few people in cold blood, and had hated it. He grew out of that, of course, but he could remember the mind-numbing sensation of guilt. Guilt was now the emotion he feared second-most, just after helplessness. Voldemort had helped him overcome those feelings, though.

But Neville had only been dark, truly dark, for a year. while he was fine with cold-blooded murder of strangers, people he knew - maybe that was a different story. Harry couldn't believe he hadn't figured it out. Noticing Neville's change in behaviour was the easy part. What good was the information if he did nothing with it?

"I'm sorry, Father," he said quietly. "I'll talk to him about it; see if I can stop him feeling so guilty. He hates feeling guilty as much as I do."

"You are forgiven, Harry," said Voldemort. "But you need to help him, sooner rather than later. Feeling guilt is hurting him, perhaps irreparably. He needs to get it out of his system."

Harry nodded. "I will. I'll go talk to him now - unless there was something else you needed, Father?"

"No, Harry," said Voldemort. "Not now."

"Okay," said Harry. "See you soon. Love you."

Voldemort watched as Harry followed the same route his brother had out of the Lair. The words were on the tip of his tongue, and he could not believe they were there. Had ten years with this boy changed him so much? He could not pretend he was not fond of him, of course, but fondness was not the same. He didn't feel quite as strongly for Neville - but in four years, would he be feeling this again? He was Lord Voldemort! Born under the effects of a love potion! It wa not possible for him to feel this. And yet, he was.

He whispered the words quietly, so that no one could possibly hear them. "I love you too, my son."

* * *

"Hey, look who finally showed up!" teased Draco, as soon as Harry emerged. Harry grinned and grabbed his broom, glancing out over the lake to the other side, where they were preparing to go.

"I was talking with Father," Harry replied. "You can take it up with him."

Draco returned Harry's grin. "Yeah, that'll happen. No one 'takes it up' with your father, Harry, not unless they're insane or for some reason like the feeling of the Cruciatus Curse."

"True," said Harry. The three boys kicked off, rising smoothly over the lake and zooming forward, occasionally skimming the water with their toes. "Have you seen Pansy recently? I haven't seen her in ages."

"Yeah, her mum got dragon pox. It's getting better, but she won't leave her mum's side. She absolutely refuses," said Draco. "I don't really blame her. I'd probably do the same for my mother."

Neville stayed quiet for the entire conversation, even as it moved closer to topics like spell casting and Quidditch, which he couldn't usually resist joining in. Harry felt shivers run up his spine. _Father was right. He is feeling guilty. I'm going to have to talk to him - soon - without Draco around - he needs to stop this._

"Race to the other side!" he yelled to Draco, who shot off immediately. Harry veered closer to his brother as Draco flew out of earshot without realising Harry wasn't following. "Neville, when were you planning on telling me you were feeling guilty?"

Neville jerked. "I'm not!"

"You are," Harry replied. "Please don't lie to me, Neville."

Neville sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just in denial. Why should I be feeling guilty? It's not like killing is new to me. I can't explain it, even to myself, but I feel like it was... well, wrong. To kill him, I mean. He never had a chance. In a battle, sure. But he was asleep, Harry. Does he even know he's dead? What if he just thinks he's dreaming? What then?"

"Then he becomes a ghost when he thinks he should wake up, and drifts around for ages not knowing he's dead. Neville, don't worry about it. It's because you knew him, isn't it?"

Harry watched as his brother opened his mouth to deny it, and closed it again. "I guess," he whispered. "God, I sound so stupid. But he never did anything wrong. I think he liked me, even."

Harry ran one of his hands through his hair, keeping the other on his broom, and tried to think how to fix this. "You don't need to be guilty, Neville," he tried. "He's light. He's not worth it. He's even one of Dumbledore's personal friends. Think how sad the old dingbat will be feeling about this. You hurt Dumbledore! We should be celebrating!"

A small smile slid onto Neville's face. "I never thought of it that way. But you're right, Harry. He's not worth my guilt."

"Exactly," said Harry. "And of course he had a chance, Neville. What about the wards? He could have made them better. It's obvious he didn't really care whether he lived or died. And he was old anyway. He didn't have too many more years on the clock."

"That's true," said Neville, looking brighter. "And the killing curse is far more painless and less humiliating then, say, a stroke or spattergroit or something. We almost did him a favour."

"That's right," said Harry, immensely relieved to hear his brother sounding more normal. "Let's go catch up to Draco. He looks rather puzzled that he beat me to the other side while I'm still only halfway there."

Neville laughed. "Let's go," he said, flying as fast as he could. Harry copied him, both of them laughing as the wind whipped through their hair and clothes, absolutely carefree, not caring that they were freezing to the bone, or that many were in mourning for the man they had killed, or that many more would die before the war was over. They were together, and they would not let anything separate them or drive them apart. Brothers in all but blood.

Brothers.

* * *

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	8. A Twisted Reflection

**Sorry this is a little late, some of the words just didn't flow, and I rewrote it several times. I'm still not happy with it. There's not much action in this chapter, but - as you'll be able to tell by the end - there will be a lot next time! Which leads me to my next point: I sincerely apologise for the MASSIVE FREAKING CLIFFHANGER at the end of this chapter. If you hate cliffhangers like most people, I am really, really sorry, but I had to cut off this chapter somewhere. It was getting really long.**

**There's some explanations for Dumbledore's actions in the first scene. It's slightly AU, I know, but that's kind of the point of this whole story. I've had it planned since the start. This chapter has also not been as thouroughly proofread as some of the others, so sorry for any mistakes.**

**Wow, I'm apologising a lot for this chapter. I hope you all enjoy it.**

**So now I'll stop rambling on - here's chapter seven...**

A Stolen Childhood

Chapter Seven: A Twisted Reflection

It had been less than a day and Ashton was back in Professor Dumbledore's study, demanding answers. As soon as he was recovered, he had stormed his way into Dumbledore's office, behaving uncharacteristically fierce. _I wouldn't have to do this if he would just tell me straight off,_ he thought irritably, pacing back in forth in front of the silver-haired wizard, who was smiling pleasantly and watching as Ashton spun on his heel and walked one way, then the other.

"You know what that glow was," Ashton stated. "Tell me."

"I would have told you soon, my dear boy," said Albus, choosing his words carefully. "You are still recovering from the attack -"

"It told you, I'm fine," said Ashton, though it wasn't entirely true. He still felt random, shooting pains in his scar, which disappeared within a few seconds, and he felt slightly nauseous, but he was well enough to hear anything Dumbledore had to throw at him. "And you would have waited and put it off, again and again, like you did before. Tell me the truth. What was it?"

"Ashton," said Albus calmly. "I've known you since you were a child. You are holding back your real question, waiting to see if I answer it among the others you will ask me. Ask away, and I promise to answer you."

Ashton was shocked for a moment that Professor Dumbledore had been able to see through him that easily, but he recovered quickly. "Fine," he said. "How can you be so certain love is the answer? How can you know it will protect me? How do you know it isn't just a one-off thing? It protected me once, but it might not again. How do you know?"

The Headmaster sighed unhappily. He had wanted - selfishly, he knew, - to avoid telling Ashton this, to keep up the boy's good opinion of him. _But he deserves to know the truth. He has given up so much; it is time we gave him something in return._ "Very well," he said. "But first I need to give you a bit of background about myself or you will not understand."

Ashton listened, his jaw dropping in shock as he learned about Dumbledore's childhood and his relationship with Grindelwald. He couldn't believe it. Albus Dumbledore, protector of the muggles and muggleborns, had been willing to accept Grindelwald's views on them - in was unfathomable.

"Eventually, Aberforth confronted me about my neglect of Ariana. Grindelwald was angered and cast the Cruciatus on him. I confronted him but was still angry with my brother, too. Eventually, a three-way duel began. The curses actually started out relatively harmlessly. Ariana tried to intervene, but she could not, and the curses kept getting darker." Albus looked up and met Ashton's eyes. All he saw in them was horror. _He may well think that._ "Finally, it happened. Grindelwald cast the killing curse at me. I was too busy with my brother to notice until the last second. But Ariana - my poor sister, who I had neglected shamefully - leapt in front of the curse. She still loved me; after all I had done to her, she loved me because I was her brother."

Ashton was openly staring, his mouth open and eyes wide. Albus continued. "Grindelwald fled. He gathered power. Meanwhile, I went to Hogwarts and taught, hiding from power. It was my weakness, and I finally knew that. But I couldn't ignore Grindelwald. Eventually, I went and fought him. He had the elder wand. He should have been able to kill me easily. But he couldn't."

"Because Ariana sacrificed herself for you," Ashton said slowly, comprehension dawning on his face. Albus nodded.

"Yes. His dark spells hit a golden shield, though it did not appear when he cast light or ambient ones. Ariana was still a child, still innocent, and she gave her life to save mine. Her life protected me. I won the duel, and took the wand. But you see, Ashton; that is why I know Voldemort cannot kill you. The glow appeared because your scar, which Voldemort gave you, was paining you. It could do nothing to help, because it can only manifest as a shield, but it was there. And it will be if you encounter Voldemort again."

Ashton was silent for a moment. He had not been expecting this. He was still processing the fact that Dumbledore had been in league with a growing Dark Wizard, but he understood. He was safe, at least from Voldemort, and at least for now. He still had more questions, though. "So what does that have to do with love? Does it only work because Voldemort cast the killing curse at me and my brother? Why do I have to be innocent and able to love, won't it work anyway?"

"No, because it is love that fuels it, Ashton," said Dumbledore. "If you ever cease to understand it - if you ever stop loving your brother - the protection is compromised, and it will no longer defend you against Voldemort." Ashton did not flinch at the name, Albus noticed. And he had more reason to than most. _I truly do not see why his name should terrify them. Disgust or provoke them; that I could understand, but why fear? Why feed the emotion he thrives on?_

He knew the answer as soon as he asked himself. Because fear was the most natural emotion to feel when a Dark Lord was at large.

Ashton met Dumbledore's eyes, and he was shocked to see the certainty in his emerald green eyes. "Neither of those things will happen. I can never stop understanding love, because I am loved by so many people, and I love so many people. And how could I ever stop loving Harry? He gave up his life for me. If that's not love, what is? My twin brother is the reason Voldemort was defeated for ten years, or at least subdued. He's the reason I'm still alive. If I were to stop loving him -" Ashton drew in a deep breath "- I would be no better than a Death Eater."

Albus nodded as Ashton finished. _We shall defeat you yet, Tom. You tried to destroy the light before. It didn't succeed that time because of Harry Potter. This time, it will be Ashton who destroys you._

_And unlike last time, you cannot kill him in the process._

"There is one more thing I'd like to discuss with you, Ashton," said Albus. "Because of what happened last night, and because of new reports we have been given on Death Eater activity by Severus, we cannot wait until school begins to retrieve the prophecy. We go tonight." He watched the boy's face for a reaction. Shock, of course, but stronger was the curiosity, resolve and relief reflected in his eyes. _Well, what did I expect? The prophecy has hung over his head for too long; now we will hear what it has to say._

"I'm in," said Ashton firmly, and that settled it.

* * *

"So we're going for the prophecy tonight?" Harry confirmed. The Death Eaters would be coming in any minute now - a meeting was about to start - but he and Neville had been called in by their father beforehand to be quickly briefed on what would be happening.

"Yes," replied Voldemort, one hand stroking Nagini's scales. "We have delayed this for too long, but I believe... you are both ready now."

"Of course we are, Father," said Neville. "You and your Inner Circle trained us yourself." He spoke with a self-confident air he had not displayed since Doge's death. Hopefully, he was no longer feeling guilt-ridden.

Voldemort's features twisted into a smile. Tenebris slithered out of Harry sleeve and coiled around his arm. "_Finally! We are doing something again! It is boring to hang around in this place. Not enough people pet me._"

"_And you think that if we invade the Ministry of Magic, more people are going to indulge your vanity?_" hissed Harry incredulously. "_Tell me how that works out._" Tenebris was a loyal companion, very eager and armed with deadly venom, but he was most certainly not modest. It was his biggest shortcoming.

Tenebris hissed in annoyance. "_Maybe not, but at least it will be interesting!_"

"_So you didn't find sneaking into someone's house and murdering them in their bed interesting?_" Harry responded.

"_There was no light show,_" Tenebris complained. Harry rolled his eyes. Honestly.

"_Whatever, Tenebris,_" Harry replied.

"_The silver-masks are coming, snake-speaker. Are you and your brother to be seated when they enter?_" the snake asked, opening his mouth to taste the air.

"_Yes_," Harry answered. He and Neville took their seats and fixed on their masks. Neville's falcon, Sanguine, flew in when the door opened and landed on his shoulder. Behind the flacon, Voldemort's full force of Death Eaters entered. Only the Inner and Middle Circle members were seated at the long table. The Outer Circle hovered around the door, terror and awe on their faces. Harry grinned as Regulus slid into the seat next to him, and Bella sat beside Neville on the other side of the table. Sanguine nipped her ear affectionately, and Tenebris slithered onto the table and nuzzled Regulus' hand.

"Remove your masks," commanded Voldemort. Most of the Inner Circle had done so already. The Outer and Middle Circles hastened to remove theirs, sometimes dropping them in their hurry. Harry hissed in annoyance. _So clumsy! Sometimes I wonder why Father uses them at all. Numbers, I suppose._

"For the... _benefit_ of the Outer Circle, no, I never was gone. I bided my time, putting my plans into action and recovering our forces that we lost in the last war. Most importantly, I acquired my heirs." Voldemort paused. Every eyes was on the two masked boys, who glared coldly back at them. "They are exceedingly talented and answer to no one but me. You will answer to them, is that clear?" It was. "Those of the Outer Circle, leave now."

The Outer Circle hastened out. They were never in meetings for long, only being told of what was expected of them afterwards. Some of the Middle Circle jumped slightly when the door slammed shut. Harry and Neville remained expressionless.

"And now... the plan. Tonight we will go to the Ministry of Magic and take the prophecy. It has been delayed for too long. I wish to know all of it."

Snape flinched at the look Voldemort gave him. _Why do I do this?_ Severus thought bitterly. _Is anything worth this fear?_

"My Lord, the Order is planning to get the Potter boy to retrieve the prophecy tonight," Snape said, hoping to deter the Dark Lord from making his move, though he doubted he would succeed at that.

Voldemort's smirk sent shivers down his spine. "Well, then. We will have to bring more of the Death Eaters with us. And Shadow? Blood?" he said.

"Yes?" they answered.

"Wear your hoods, but not your masks. I believe it may finally be time."

The two boys grinned behind their silver masks. They had waited years for this. It would happen tonight. They would retrieve the prophecy - and reveal themselves.

* * *

Severus Snape hurried out of the fireplace in the Order Headquarters, brushing aside Shacklebolt, Black and Moody and zeroing in on Dumbledore. This was urgent - it was too dangerous to retrieve the prophecy now. "Albus!" he called.

"Good afternoon, Severus. Do you bring news?" the Headmaster asked, the all-too-familiar twinkle in his piercing blue eyes. Snape resisted the urge to slap the old man - was it not obvious he brought news? And it was hardly good news.

"Of course," he snapped. "Albus, you cannot bring Ashton to the ministry tonight."

"Why ever not, Severus?" asked Dumbledore.

"Because the Dark Lord plans to retrieve it tonight, and he's bringing his sons!" Snape fought to keep the snarl out of his voice. "Unless you have a death wish, you will have to give up on this prophecy!"

Albus' expression became grave. "That is grim news indeed, Severus, but we cannot give up on the prophecy. We need to hear all of it to understand the situation. All we can do is hope we get to it first."

"He has a point," Kingsley said. "This is madness, Albus."

"If it's madness, then I'm in!" declared Black cheerfully, as if nothing was more thrilling than a suicide mission was. Snape rolled his eyes. Typical Gryffindor - all brawn and not a brain to speak of.

"The plan goes ahead," stated Albus firmly, and that was it. Settled.

* * *

"You're going to get the prophecy?" said Hermione in disbelief. When Ashton nodded, her face paled. "Even though You-Know-Who-"

"Can't you call him Voldemort?" asked Ashton, knowing it was fruitless.

"- is going to get it as well?" finished Hermione, as though she had not been interrupted at all. Ashton glanced around at his friends. They were sitting in Ginny and Hermione's temporary bedroom, Hermione and the twins on one bed and Ashton, Ron, and Ginny on the other. Ginny looked slightly worried at the prospect, and so did Ron, but Fred and George didn't look particularly anxious about it.

"As we've said so often, Hermione, where's the fun without a bit of risk?" said George. "Dumbledore will be there, and Ashton's got his funny glow thing -"

"It only works against Voldemort," Ashton interrupted.

"So you don't need to worry about him, only the Death Eaters," said Fred. "Just muster up your dodging skills, Ash - Death Eaters are terrible shots." He spoke as if Ashton was going for a walk in the park wand was worried about a stray dog, rather than wandering into the ministry and trying to get a prophecy before Voldemort gets it, which was a far more alarming reality.

"Wish I could go with you. I'll go insane here, worrying about you fighting Death Eaters, Ash," said Ron. Ginny nodded in agreement.

"Aw, is ickle Ronnie worried for his friendy?" teased Fred.

"Shove off," said Ron, his ears going slightly red. "Course I'm worried for him, idiot."

"Calm down, Ron," said George. "Just a friendly tease, that's all."

"Yeah, well -"

"Can you three stop it?" asked Hermione exasperatedly, her gaze flicking from Fred to George to Ron, and occasionally to Ashton.

"Yeah, we're all worried, but it'll be fine," said Ginny, though it was obvious she did not quite believe what she was telling them.

Ashton did not quite believe it either. Somehow, amongst all that was happening to them, he could not quite believe that everything would be fine.

* * *

"_When does the light show start?_" asked Tenebris, for the fifth time. Harry gritted his teeth and told the deep green snake to be quiet. Sometimes he envied Neville for having a familiar that didn't talk. At the moment, Sanguine was perched on his brother's shoulder, silent and well-behaved.

They were leading one group of Death Eaters into the ministry through a back way, heading for the Hall of Prophecies. The other group, lead by their father, would come through the floo and hopefully distract any night guards. They might even make it through to the Department of Mysteries as well. Harry mentally brought out a map of the Ministry, checking his surroundings to figure out where they were. They had to go down one floor to get to the right level.

He renewed the disillusionment charm on himself and walked silently down the corridor. As well as leading, he was also the scout. His brother was in charge of keeping the Death Eaters in line, which didn't take much effort but was more entertaining than being the one who had to peer around every corner.

Somewhere along the corridor, a door opened and two ministry official bustled out, unaware of the presence of the Death Eaters. Harry knocked them out with two wandless and non-verbal stunners - even if he's wanted to use Unforgivables, that would set off an alarm in the ministry and the whole point was to remain undetected.

Sweeping them to one side of the corridor with a wave of his hand, they continued onwards, deeper into the heart of the ministry. They came to the lifts and had to take both to get all of them down. Harry stepped out quickly as the doors clanged open, hating the claustrophobic atmosphere inside the lift.

A sign declared 'Level Nine - Department of Mysteries', in bold lettering. Stepping past it, Harry pushed open a door into a circular room with several different doors along the walls. He paused, before selecting the door to the Time Room and opening it.

"Nice work," said Neville as they stepped inside. "I couldn't have remembered all that."

"You could have, you just wouldn't bother," Harry replied. Neville flashed him a grin.

Harry couldn't pretend he didn't feel slightly vulnerable without his silver mask on. After all, he'd warn it everywhere except in the Lair since he was five and a half. He felt exposed, as if a little part of him was missing, and he didn't like it. But if they were going to show the Order who they really were, they couldn't wear them. Still, he pulled his hood a little lower and crept onwards through the rows of Time Turners, towards the door at the end of the Time Room.

"This place gives me the creeps," Neville muttered, kicking away a Time Turner that had fallen off its shelf. "It's too quiet here."

Harry opened the door to the Hall of Prophecies and smiled at his brother. "Come on, Blood, you're not _scared_ are you?"

"Merely self-preservative. Forgive me for not acting like an insufferable Gryffindor."

"Point taken," Harry replied, stepping through the doorway. The Hall of Prophecies was filled with shelves of dusty glass orbs that probably hadn't been disturbed in decades. Immediately he turned towards the correct row and lead the Death Eaters to the darkest end of the hall.

"Now?" Neville asked, as the Death Eaters renewed their disillusionment charms.

"Now we wait," Harry told him, his smirk open for the world to see without his silver mask.

* * *

"You ready, Ash?" asked Lily, fear for her only surviving son evident in her voice. "I don't want to lose you to some Death Eater's curse..."

"He'll be fine; he's got me and Padfoot to look after him!" declared James, a huge grin on his face. He was obviously trying to ease the tension. Most of the Order of the Phoenix didn't want to admit it, but they were all afraid. Voldemort, his heirs and his Death Eaters would all be at the Department of Mysteries tonight.

"I'll be fine," said Ashton firmly, trying to squash the niggling anxiety that was threatening to overcome him. _What if I'm not? What if it's a trap? What if there isn't actually a prophecy? What if Dad or Sirius die? What if -._ Abruptly he stopped that train of thought before it went on any further. It would do them no good for him to doubt himself.

"Be careful, mate," Ron told him. Ginny nodded, looking slightly worried. The twins were nowhere to be seen - Ron had told him they were using the opportunity to play a big prank, but he suspected they were trying to avoid the air of grimness.

"Come back safe," Hermione whispered. "Just - be careful, okay, Ash?"

"I will," he promised. He ran one hand through his messy black hair, trying to calm himself down. _It's going to be fine._

"Come on, time we were going," grunted Moody. "Sooner we get there, less chance of running into You-Know-Bloody-Who and less of us will kick the bucket!"

"Aren't you feeling cheerful today, Mad-Eye," commented Tonks drily. "We're ready when you are, Albus."

"Let's go," Albus said. The Order stepped outside and James grabbed Ashton's arm. The disapparated for the ministry with a loud CRACK!

"They'll be fine," said Lily firmly. "Molly, shall we get the table ready?" She and Molly had stayed behind with the children - the Weasleys and Hermione.

"Oh - no - Ginny, Hermione, can you do that? Fred - George - dishes, dears - and Ron, the floor needs a good sweep..."

With a groan, the children began their respective chores.

* * *

Ashton stumbled when they landed a few streets away from the Ministry of Magic. It was raining slightly, and quite cold, but they performed some simple warming charms and walked briskly towards the entrance to the ministry. The warming charm didn't stop the rain, though - Ashton couldn't remember which spell did - so they were all soaked when they arrived at the entrance.

Ashton squeezed out his hair a little, but it didn't help much. Glancing around, he noticed they were in some kind of public bathroom. He knew how to get into the ministry from here, so when James nudged him towards a cubicle, he obligingly clambered into the toilet and pulled the chain.

Once the rest of the Order has arrived in the atrium, they took a good look around. There had been a fight here - the bodies of a few ministry official in ministry robes were lying here and there, and so was the body of a deceased Death Eater.

"He's here, then," said Kingsley. "But it looks like he went to some other level, no level nine."

"Maybe he doesn't know which level it's on?" suggested Tonks hopefully. It didn't sound likely, but no one could think of a better explanation.

They came to the lifts and rode down to Level Nine, the Department of Mysteries. "Okay so far, Ash?" asked Sirius. Ashton nodded, but the tension in the air was starting to get to him. His stomach was tying knots, much as he tried to ignore it. Voldemort was probably here already. The knot twisted further, but a small spark of anger wormed its way in. Voldemort would pay for what he'd done to his brother.

"You sure?" James checked. "We don't have to get the prophecy, you know. You look rather pale."

"I'm fine," said Ashton quickly. He wanted to hear the prophecy. It was the reason they'd been attacked that night on Halloween ten years ago. He wanted to know what it said, in full, not the half version Dumbledore knew. All of it.

James gave him a scrutinising look. "If you say so, but remember, Ash, no one's asking you to do anything rash. You just have to get the prophecy because until you do no one can touch it."

Ashton felt a small smile creep onto his lips. "You're telling me to defy my Gryffindor nature?"

James ruffled his hair, making it messier than it already was. "Of course not, Lionheart, but you've got to have a bit of self-preservation."

"You mean selfishness."

"Survival instinct," James insisted.

"Like a Slytherin?" Ashton teased.

James glared at him. "That is completely different, Ash. You're not one of those slippery snakes, but you don't have to throw yourself into battles without thinking first. That's not any part of being a Gryffindor."

"I'll keep it in mind," Ashton promised. "But I only promise to think first, not to stay out of a fight."

"You're only a fifth year, Ash," began James, but Ashton cut him off.

"And I defeated Voldemort when I was five, I'm the Chosen One to defeat him again and I have a magic glowing shield that protects me. I'm not a normal kid, Dad. I know you want me to be, but I'm never going to be."

James looked sorrowful. "I know, Ash. Isn't it ironic? We're going to fetch the damn thing that started this mess anyway."

"Yeah," Ashton said. They had come to the end of the Time Room now, and opened the doors to the Hall of Prophecy.

"This way," said Professor Dumbledore. The Order followed him to the correct row. "The one on the far end of this shelf, Ashton," he said.

Ashton walked down the row and came to the end, reaching out a hand to take the glass orb.

Suddenly, a boy with emerald green eyes stepped out of the shadows, snatching away the prophecy, a smirk on his all-too-familiar face.

"Mine, I think," said the boy coldly, casting off his hood. Ashton couldn't keep the gasp in. It was like staring in a mirror. The eyes, the messy black hair - a scar on his forehead, partially obscured by his black locks -

He was staring into the eyes of his dead brother, Harry.

* * *

**So there it is... I again apologise for the cliffhanger and I promise I'll update sooner than last time! Please drop me a review, I really appreciate it!**


	9. Steeped in Shadow

**Sorry about the cliffhanger last time! But here - finally - is chapter eight, and you'll see why I had to cut it off. The first scene is three-quarters of a chapter and over three thousand words long!**

**Anyway, finally the prophecy is revealed! It is extremely long and kind of cryptic. I will not say at this point who is the Chosen One or anything along those lines, but feel free to make all the guesses you like! I hope you enjoy this chapter - I liked writing it, and I think it went as it should have without going off on too many tangents. **

**I finally decided how I'm going to end this story, too (I had several ideas detailed before) and I think I'll stick with it, so hopefully it'll satisfy you all later on.**

**I've rambled long enough! Here you have the chapter:**

A Stolen Childhood

Chapter Eight: Steeped in Shadow

Ashton could not move. He could not breathe. He stumbled backwards into the shelf, eyes wide. His brother was - alive. It was not possible. Unfathomable. His head was reeling from shock and he could not even work through his mixed emotions. His brother was not dead. How - why - what was going on?

Harry smirked at Ashton's expression. "Got it, Neville," he called softly, turning briefly and tossing the prophecy towards his brother. Ashton's heart almost stopped as another figure came into view, stepping forward to catch the glass orb. He only needed to see the frosty brown eyes and hair to know it really was Neville. Who had been one of his best friends.

"Could've given me more warning, Harry, what if I'd dropped it?" asked Neville. He glanced at Ashton and grinned, but it wasn't the nice smile Ashton remembered seeing from him - this smile was darker, shadowed even. "So I see he finally turned up."

"Rest of the Order's down there," said Harry coldly, gesturing to the end of the row.

Ashton's mind was working furiously to process what he was feeling. His brother was alive - he hadn't been killed after all - so what about the glow - and how did he pick up the prophecy - his brother was _alive_! - where had he been - what about Neville - he was _alive_! Not dead, not killed ten years ago as they had thought. Joy, confusion, anxiety, fear, and hope all welled up in him at once but even those emotions could not quell the shock that was running through him.

"Ash! Ash, are you okay?" James saw his son stumble and hurried towards him, and in his haste to help his son he didn't see the other boys - or the Death Eaters.

"Well, if it isn't Potter Senior," drawled Harry coldly. James glanced up in surprise at hearing another voice and reeled back. He glanced at Ashton and then at Harry, at Ashton again, then at the boy standing next to Harry, and his jaw dropped. It - it wasn't possible - how could they be alive? Why didn't Voldemort kill them? He looked at Harry and didn't know what to feel. It was his son - his long-lost, thought-to-be-dead son, and he was alive! Of course he should be happy. But he glanced behind his sons and confirmed his worst suspicions - there were Death Eaters here.

His son, and his other son's friend, were the Dark Heirs. This was a nightmare.

"Surprised?" said Harry, laughing with dark humour. Behind James, the rest of the Order was coming up to see what was going on. Harry smirked, and James felt his insides twist. _No, no, no... this cannot be happening!_ All the elation he should be feeling at seeing his son alive was crashing down as he remembered all he knew about the Dark Heirs. Doge's murder. The incident outside Crouch Manor. _My own son wants to kill me! _He barely suppressed the urge to break down and do something very unGryffindorish: cry.

"Ah, I see you brought reinforcements," said Neville, his voice as cold as Harry's was. He found two of the Order members from the group and smirked as they came closer. Alice and Frank Longbottom. _Aren't they in for a surprise?_

When the Order came close enough to see them, the look of shock was unanimous.

Sirius felt like he'd been plunged head-first into icy water. It took him almost ten seconds before he even realised who the boys were. He could not believe it. And there was Ashton, his godson, pressed up against the shelves and looking as if he might pass out. James didn't look much better. How could it be Harry? How could the boy next to him be Neville?

He was struck by how much Harry resembled Ashton, but as he looked closer, he noticed some differences. Some were innocuous - his hair was slightly messier, and his features sharper - but others filled him with horror. His eyes had a cold gleam to them, and he held himself straighter, as he had obviously not been crushed down by the media. Sirius glanced back at Ashton, who was breathing heavily.

"Harry," Ashton croaked. And there came the smirk - it was horrifying for Sirius to see his best friend's son look like that. The boy laughed softly, maliciously, and it seemed to resonate in Sirius' head. How much worse was this, for Ashton and James and Remus? His twin and father and godfather - did Harry even consider himself part of their family?

Remus' spirit was already crumbling. He had known, from the moment he saw who the boy was, that he could not fight against his godson. He had loved him - and still did. That he was one of the Dark Heirs did not matter. He would never - _could _never - hurt this child.

_And that, _he reflected grimly, _was probably Voldemort's plan._ He looked at Ashton, who seemed to have just regained his voice. Ashton was the Chosen One, and meant to destroy Voldemort - but even if he did, Harry and Neville would continue on, and Ashton could not kill them. Perhaps Voldemort even meant to use them as a shield.

The idea was sickening, but it was exactly the sort of thing Voldemort would do.

"Harry," Ashton said again, his voice a little steadier, but still cracking with emotion.

"I do believe that is my name, yes," said Harry coolly. The Death Eaters laughed, and Ashton felt a pang of emptiness and loss. It might have been funny if it wasn't said in such a cold tone - and if there wasn't so much hate behind it. But looking at this boy, who so obviously wanted him dead or in pain, he could still see a remnant of the old Harry - the one who he had laughed and joked with, the one who had loved him.

"You're - you're alive," he whispered. Was it a blessing or a curse? He had always longed for his brother back - but now, to look at him and see what ten years of calling himself the son of Voldemort had done to him - he didn't know how much of his brother was left.

Harry arched an eyebrow. "No, really?" he said scathingly.

Again the Death Eaters laughed. Ashton fought the urge to shrink away. _I am a Gryffindor,_ he told himself firmly. He would get through this.

Dumbledore seemed shaken to the core by the revelation of the Dark Heirs. "Harry... Neville... my dear boys, we thought you were dead."

"That was the general idea," said Harry calmly. "Father planned it that way." Ashton's stomach dropped another two inches when he heard Harry call that bastard 'father'.

"He is not a bastard," said Neville amusedly. "Speaking of Father, Harry, when is he getting here?"

Ashton went cold. Neville had read his mind. He remembered hearing about that, but it had not crossed his mind until now. And then there was the nature of what Neville had said - Voldemort could _not _be coming here, could he? As much as Ashton wanted to obliterate him, he doubted the Order would stand much of a chance against him.

"Soon, probably," Harry said. "He mentioned he might run into some resistance, and he wanted to leave the dear minister a warning, remember?"

The Order shuddered at the thought of what form the warning would come in.

"He is not your father," Dumbledore said. "You have been lied to, maybe obliviated -"

"No, we have not," said Neville. Beside him, Harry's emerald eyes were sparking in anger. "We know exactly who we are. Our place is at our father's side."

"As for yours..." Harry looked critically at the old man, forcing down the anger he felt. He did not think as clearly when he was angry. "Your place is at his feet, grovelling for mercy." The image pleased him.

The Order, on the other hand, looked revolted. That was to be expected.

"Enough talking!" growled Moody suddenly, stepping forward. Harry and Neville looked disdainfully at the Auror, as if he were beneath them.

"I see Rosier did his job well enough," said Harry, with cold amusement. His gaze flicked to the lump missing from Moody's nose down to his wooden leg, and he smirked again. "Though I would have done better."

"Always so modest, aren't you?" teased Neville. Ashton's heart twisted.

"Shut up," retorted Harry, but he was smiling - not a smirk this time, Ashton noticed, but a smile. _They really do love each other... _He had no idea how they could still feel love, after so many years in Voldemort's care, but it appeared that they could. He began to feel a cautious hope - maybe his brother and friend could turn back to the light?

"Alastor," said Albus warningly, as Moody raised his wand to fire a spell. _Don't you dare curse my brother!_ thought Ashton angrily, even though he knew they were on opposite sides.

"Albus, they're too far gone! They killed Doge, or have you forgotten about him? Let's get what we came for and leave!"

"There'll be a problem with that," said Neville.

"What's that, you bastard?" snarled Moody. Ashton wanted to contradict him, but there was a lump in his throat. He couldn't say anything.

"If you want it, you have to go through us," said Harry calmly. He and Neville suddenly raised their arms and splayed out their hand simultaneously, as if this part had already been arranged. About half the Order was thrown backwards to the end of the row, but Ashton rolled and managed to dodge the wave of force. Now that adrenaline was kicking in, he threw off the shock and let instinct guide him.

The rest of the Order were firing spells, at the dark Heirs and at the Death Eaters, who were returning them with darker curses no one in the Order would even think to use. Ashton jumped out of the path of one curse and managed to raise a shield to deflect a more minor one. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neville pass Harry the prophecy and Harry slip away into the next row - presumably to find Voldemort.

He couldn't let Harry do that.

He ran after his brother into the row, ducking to avoid being hit by an Unforgivable but not bothering to send a curse in return. He was only concerned with his brother at the moment - anyone else could wait. "Harry!" he managed to call.

Harry turned, smirking when he saw who it was, but he stopped moving away. "Ashton Potter," he said, but there was not warmth in his voice. "The Chosen One, they're calling you. The Boy-Who-Lived. Tell me this, Ashton. If I didn't die that night, did you really live at all?"

Though this had occured to him, he still felt like he'd slammed into a wall hearing it from his own brother. "I - I -"

"What are you, really?" said Harry walking closer, a cruel sneer on his lips. "You are not the Boy-Who-Lived if I did not give up my life to save you. You are not the Chosen One either, are you?"

"How would you know? Have you heard the prophecy?" demanded Ashton, feeling like part of him was being ripped away, and feeling childish for feeling that.

Harry chortled softly. "I don't have to. My father has heard most of the prophecy already, and he's told me parts of it. There's a line you might be interested in: _The one shall be killed by the hands of the darkness_. So how can it be you?"

Ashton stumbled backwards as if he'd suffered an invisible blow. "But - but if it's not me, who is it?" He didn't know if what Harry was saying was true, but if he wasn't the Chosen One - he didn't know whether to be relieved or devastated.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, but when I do, I'm going to kill them," he said calmly.

"What - you wouldn't -" gasped Ashton, his heart twisting.

"Wouldn't I?" laughed Harry. "I killed Doge in his own home. The blood of many is on my hands, Potter. I'm a killer, trained by Lord Voldemort himself. And you think I wouldn't kill the Chosen One when I find them?"

Ashton stood, rooted to the floor, swaying slightly as various emotions battled for supremacy inside him. Eventually the battle was won, and grief poured into him, making his knees buckle. _My brother, my brother, what have you become?_ he cried silently, tears finally leaking out of his eyes.

"Pitiful," commented Harry. "This is the best Dumbledore could do with you?"

"He - he didn't do anything to me! He wanted me to be a normal kid!" said Ashton, grief spreading waves of anger throughout his body. Not at his brother, but at Voldemort, and what he had done to Harry.

"Isn't that touching?" said Harry. "And yet therein lies his downfall. Expect the unexpected, Potter. He prepared for my father, maybe, but not for me. Not for my brother. And his greatest trump card - _love_. Supposedly the power Voldemort knows not." Harry laughed malevolently. "What good will love do? It cannot shield you against me, or my brother, and it does nothing for the old fool."

"He's not a fool," said Ashton quietly, trying not to let Harry see how badly he was being affected. For this was Voldemort's plan, wasn't it? Had it been all along? If Ashton was the Chosen One then they were doomed. He couldn't kill his brother, or Neville.

"Isn't he?" asked Harry. It was a quiet statement, not jeering like his others had been. A challenge. Faint sensations of doubt niggled at his mind. _Isn't he?_

But Dumbledore had told him about the glow, he argued with himself. He knew what he was doing. Or did he? Harry hadn't died. So how did the glow manifest? Had Dumbledore lied to him?

_He wouldn't!_

Wouldn't he? How long had it taken him to tell Ashton about the prophecy? How long before he told him anything, really?_ But that's not fair. He was trying to protect me. He didn't want me to suffer those burdens until I was ready._ _I ended up suffering them anyway, though, but that wasn't his fault. He did what he could._

"You're wrong, Harry," said Ashton. "Dumbledore is not a fool. But he is human. He makes mistakes sometimes."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You see Dumbledore as human, but not my father?"

"Of course!" said Ashton. "He killed - I mean, he took you away from us when you were five! He took Neville as well! And he - his eyes are red, and he has no nose, and chalky skin -"

"Physical appearances have no bearing, Potter," said Harry. "I may resemble you, but you are not my brother."

Ashton couldn't hide how much that one hurt him.

"And as for what he's done," said Harry. "What would have happened had we stayed? We'd be Dumbledore's puppets, like you - no minds of our own, forced to bear a burden that we weren't ready for."

"I'm not a puppet."

"Really," drawled Harry. "You're not? You truly believe that?"

"Yes," said Ashton firmly, thinking of all the times he had defied Dumbledore, and hated him for keeping things from him. "Yes, Harry, I do."

"Then you're stupider than I thought," said Harry. He pulled the prophecy out from his cloak. "I think we might want to hear this now. Maybe after you've heard it you'll realise what Dumbledore is doing to you."

"What are you -" began Ashton, but he stopped when he heard a raspy voice start reciting the prophecy.

"_ The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... brothers in blood and brothers in all but blood, one becomes two, two become one, three become one... the one will possess power the Dark Lord knows not... and the Dark Lord shall mark the one as his equal and shall mark the heart of the light... turn to darkness, turn to light, the Chosen One shall face him... and either shall die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one shall be born as the seventh month dies..._"

The voice faded, and Ashton was sure that was all - prophecies weren't that long, surely? - but it soon began again, reciting the second half.

"_And two of the one shall call him father, and darkness runs in their blood, for the one shall be killed by the hands of the darkness and emerge fully in the heart of the light... and one of the one shall be of the sun, while one of the one is one of the moon and one of the one is one of the stars... and a promise made shall greet the dusk and follow the night to the dawn... the night shall be hard and cold but the dawn will break... bound by ties of blood and ties of more than blood, ties of brotherhood and love and friendship... the one of the sun shall guard the moon and the one of the moon shall guard the stars... two of the one shall call him father, and three shall be one when the sun rises in the dawn..._"

"Well, that wasn't cryptic at all," said Harry. He went over his memory several times to make sure he had it fully memorised, and then smashed the prophecy on the ground.

Ashton winced, but he was slightly in shock again. Lines of the prophecy were swimming in his head. _And the Dark Lord shall mark the One as his equal and mark the heart of the light..._ Ashton's hand strayed to his scar. Was that what it meant? _Brothers in blood -_ was that him, and Harry - _and brothers in all but blood..._ His eyes swept back to the other row where the battle still raged. Could it be Harry and Neville? But how did that work - the prophecy kept mentioning the One.

"I'll be seeing you," said Harry with a smirk, turning to leave.

"Wait! Harry - don't!"

"Don't what?" asked Harry mildly.

"Make the biggest mistake of your life," said Ashton. "Don't go back to him, Harry. He's not your father. You know that. You don't have to listen to Dumbledore. Just - come back with me."

"And turn my back on my father?" asked Harry. "He raised me, Potter, and trained me to become who I am. I will never betray him - much less for you."

"Please -"

"Save your breath, you never know when you might need it," Harry replied curtly. He raised his voice and called to the rest of the Death Eaters. "We have what we came for! Return to the Dark Lord!"

_But this is the ministry - you can't disapparate in here!_ thought Ashton blindly.

"Not disapparition," said Harry calmly. He'd read Ashton's expression, not his mind, but he wasn't going to show him that. "Portkeys. To be precise," he added with a smirk, "ward-ripping portkeys."

He pulled a small disc out of his robes and disappeared with a 'pop!', leaving Ashton kneeling by the remains of the prophecy, joy and horror and grief coursing through his veins as one, all riding on the overpowering feeling of pain.

* * *

James snarled in frustration when the Death Eaters disappeared with the aid of their portkeys, but as soon as they were gone, the battle fever died too, and the emotions that overwhelmed him were of anguish. Harry was not dead, no, but he was one of the Dark Heirs. He served Voldemort.

He hadn't been able to believe it, at first. He thought that it was just some sick joke to unnerve them - and if it had been, it would have worked - but he knew from the moment Harry smiled at his brother - not a smirk, a smile - that it was him. He had some human emotion left even after ten years with that bastard, though how much he didn't know.

And then came the next feeling: failure. He had failed Harry. He'd thought he was dead. Hadn't they all? But he wasn't dead, and James had barely looked for him, instead focussing on bringing Voldemort to justice - or rather his Death Eaters, as he had seemingly vanished when Ashton repelled the killing curse.

Ashton - how much worse had this been for him? Harry was his twin. They had been inseparable. Seeing what he had become must have been so incredibly heartbreaking for Ashton. Not to mention the doubt that must be going through him. If Harry had never died, did that mean Ashton had never defeated Voldemort? And what about the prophecy? They had come here for the prophecy, so where was it?

Come to that, where was Ashton?

"Ash!" he called frantically, terrified for his youngest son. "Ash!"

"I'm here," he heard Ashton call weakly from the neighbouring row. Fearing he was injured, James rushed over to him, vaguely aware that Sirius was following him, and so was Remus, though more slowly. One of Neville's spells had dislocated his leg.

When he reached Ashton, however, he found that the boy wasn't injured at all - at least not physically. Still, he asked frantically "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I..." began Ashton, but the words choked in his throat. James looked at him and immediately saw the pain in his eyes.

"Harry talked to you," stated James, not sure if he would be horrified or happy if it was true.

Ashton nodded mutely. James found it was a strange mixture of both.

Sirius reached them at that moment. "Pup! Are you all right? You're not hurt?"

"Fine," said Ashton.

"You're not fine," said Sirius, helping Ashton to stand properly. "I saw you run after Harry. Did you hear the prophecy? What did he say to you?"

"I heard the prophecy," Ashton managed, but he didn't elaborate on what Harry had said. It was filling his head, though, and he wasn't sure how long he could go without spilling it out. _I may resemble you, but you are not my brother... I will never betray him, much less for you... The blood of many is on my hands, Potter. I'm a killer, trained by Lord Voldemort himself..._ Ashton shuddered and tried not to think about it, but that was impossible.

He had found his brother, and lost him, in less than an hour.

"I will find him," he muttered under his breath. _And when I do, I won't let him go this time. I will show him back to the light._ A line of the prophecy stirred in his head. _Turn to darkness, turn to light..._ The faint feeling of hope kindled inside him. Surely that meant he could show his brother back to the light?

He had to try. But it would be difficult. Even thinking of Harry at the moment sent a fresh wave of pain through his body and mind. Another few tears slipped from his eyes.

"Ash? Ash, it's okay. We're going to save him - him and Neville. Voldemort's brainwashed them, but we can reverse it. Don't give up hope." James tried to reassure his son, though he wasn't sure how effective he was being.

Remus finally arrived, trying not to grimace in pain. "My - my godson," he managed. "I thought - we thought - we thought that bastard had killed him. But he didn't. He didn't. Oh, Ashton, I'm so sorry. I'm a horrible godfather. I let him go."

"No," said Ashton quietly. "It's my fault."

"No, it's neither," said Sirius. "Ash - Moony - this is beyond our control. We have to do the best we can to get Harry and Neville back on our side, but remember; this is Voldemort's fault, not ours. He did this. He tore our family apart, but we have to stitch it together."

Ashton couldn't even manage a small smile. "You're the one giving advice? Never thought I'd see the day."

"Oh, be quiet, you," said Sirius, playfully swatting Ashton's head. Ashton couldn't smile, but some of the tension broke. Maybe... just maybe, they'd be all right.

* * *

**Hope you liked it! Please review!**

**-Jaffaninja-**


	10. Behind the Broken Mirror

**Firstly - I am very, very sorry that this chapter is so late. It's the end of term, and schoolwork finally caught up with me. I'm really sorry. The next update should be a lot faster, because it's the holidays! *does a happy dance***

**Anyway, not much action in this chapter. It's mostly the reactions and immediate consequences of the Order finding out about Harry. There isn't actually anything from Harry's point of view in this chapter though. It's all light. Definitely some dark in the next chapter though.**

**So, here it is, finally:**

A Stolen Childhood

Chapter Nine: Behind the Broken Mirror

Ginny noticed something was wrong the moment the Order arrived back at Grimmauld Place.

It was difficult _not_ to notice it, actually. She was perched on the landing with Hermione and Ron, waiting for Ashton to get back from the ministry. No one had said any more about it, but they were all worried. Anything could have gone wrong. In fact, it would be a miracle if everyone got back alive.

Professor Dumbledore came through the door first with such a grave expression that Ginny knew something terrible had happened. She tensed immediately, trying to prepare for what could have happened. Had someone died? It seemed the most likely scenario, but she couldn't tell.

The elderly professor swept in, and Ashton, James Potter, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black came in behind him. Ginny let out a breath she had not known she was holding. Her friend was all right. Well, not physically hurt at least. But he and the three Marauders all looked incredibly shell-shocked, and she could not help but feel a strong sense of foreboding. Something _really_ terrible had happened, something bigger than a death. Of course, that did not mean no one had died.

Frank and Alice Longbottom came in next, with a similar mixture of pain and elation, which didn't make much sense. The rest of the Order piled in after them, wearing assorted expressions of distress. Ginny counted the Order and double checked, but they were all there - no one had died. That was lucky. Amazing, even.

Was it intentional on You-Know-Who's part?

She shuddered and pushed that thought away. At that moment, Lily Potter and her own mother came into the room, fretting. Lily gasped "Ash, are you okay? You're not hurt? James, what about you - what's wrong? What happened?"

So she had noticed, too. It wasn't really surprising. But Ginny was insanely curious - and anxious - about what had befallen the Order at the ministry. Dumbledore told Lily and Ginny's mother to leave Ashton be for now, and let him rest, before ushering the Order into the meeting room. Lily hesitated.

"Ash -"

"I'm okay, just really tired," said Ashton, in a voice with absolutely no expression in it. It sounded flat, emotionless - completely unlike his normal way of speech. Ginny shuddered despite herself, her instincts screaming at her that something had gone dreadfully wrong. "I just need to get some sleep."

"If you're sure," said Lily doubtfully, before heading into the meeting room. Ashton came up the stairs and noticed them on the landing. For a second, he looked as if he might smile, but evidently something crossed his mind and his face fell. He walked past them and into the upstairs hallway, heading towards the room he shared with Ron.

Ginny, Hermione, and Ron exchanged glances before following him. By some unspoken agreement, they had decided not to ask Ashton about what had happened until he was ready to talk about it. But knowing Ashton, that could be a while.

Ashton flopped down on his bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling. The other three sat awkwardly on Ron's bed, trying to ignore the pressing silence. No one said anything. After about half an hour, Mrs Weasley came upstairs and told them to go to sleep.

Reluctantly, Ginny and Hermione left the room. The instant the door was closed they started conversing in anxious whispers.

"What happened at the ministry?"

"How should I know, Ginny?"

"You must've thought of something!"

"Well, I don't have much of an idea, but whatever it was it affected everyone! Did you see Professor Dumbledore's expression?"

"Of course I did, Hermione, I'm not that blind. What could have happened, though?"

"Girls, bed," said Ginny's mother, and they hurried to their bedroom, quickly changing for bed and turning out the lights.

"I hope he tells us soon."

"Me too, Gin."

"Not just because I'm curious, Hermione, but I want to help him. I can't do anything - _we_ can't do anything - if he won't say a word. I counted the Order members - everyone who went came back alive, and there weren't any major injuries."

"Maybe it's to do with the prophecy."

Ginny sat up suddenly. "What?"

"The prophecy. If no one died, why else is he so... well, you know. Stunned. Maybe there was something in it that made him feel like that."

Ginny bit her lip. "Maybe... but that doesn't explain why Frank and Alice looked the same way, does it? Do you reckon Fred and George have any spare extendable ears?"

"Ginny!"

"Sorry. But this is important."

"You're right, it doesn't explain it." In the dark, Ginny couldn't see Hermione's expression, but she knew the fifth-year Gryffindor would be wearing her puzzled frown. Ginny had seen that a lot recently.

"We should get some rest," said Ginny abruptly, rolling over.

"Right," said Hermione. Neither of them said another word, but they both lay awake for several hours - and, in the room across the hallway, so did Ron - worrying over their friend and what had happened to him.

Ashton did not lie awake for hours. He didn't sleep at all.

* * *

Albus had expected the Order meeting, which was held immediately after the battle in the ministry, to be extremely chaotic. He'd expected people to ask many questions, and demand explanations he didn't have. None of it. People sat in stunned silence. The blow hadn't quite sunk in yet for most of them, and they sat there, absorbing it.

Lily finally broke the silence. "What happened? Something's wrong with Ashton, and he won't tell me what. James - Frank, Alice, Sirius, Remus, Albus - you all look like someone dropped a ton of bricks on your heads. What happened at the ministry? What did the prophecy say?"

James looked at Lily, as if unsure whether to tell her. After a couple of seconds, he said hoarsely, "Lily... they're not dead."

"What?" asked Lily, now perfectly confused. Who wasn't dead?

James glanced helplessly at Sirius and Remus, but they just waved him to go on, pain reflected in their eyes too. He hesitated - how would Lily take it? Would she freak out, be happy, or just not believe it? He took a deep breath, steeling his nerve, and said quietly, "Neville... and Harry. They're not dead. He didn't kill them. They're the Dark Heirs."

Whatever Lily had been expecting, this was not it. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped open. "W-what?" she stammered, unable to believe it.

"Voldemort never killed Harry. He never killed Neville. He raised them, as his sons. The Dark Heirs," he said tiredly, unable to keep the pain out of his voice. "Tonight... at the ministry... tonight they showed themselves to us."

"He's not dead?" whispered Lily. "Harry's alive?"

James nodded mutely. Lily looked like she had the day Harry and Ashton were born - her face lit up with happiness and her eyes lost the haze that was always present during the war. "What's he like?" she asked happily.

Some people looked away. Lily frowned in confusion, and James took her hands, knowing this would be hard for her to hear. "Lily... he's loyal to Voldemort. To the dark. I think..." He swallowed, and forced himself to say it. "I think he might hate us."

The colour drained out of her face, and James winced. So did the rest of the Order. Almost all of them had known Harry, and almost all of them had known Neville. To know that they hated the Order now - that they were on the opposite side in the war - was shattering.

"What about the prophecy?" called Hestia Jones, evidently trying to break out of the immobilising shock and sadness.

"I do not know if Ashton heard it," said Dumbledore gravely. "James, you spoke to him after the battle - did he hear it?"

"He did," said James. "I don't know if he remembers all of it. And I won't ask him about it, not until he's ready to talk."

"He has to tell us! It's important!" snapped Sturgis Podmore, who winced when Remus, Sirius, James, and Lily turned to glare at him.

"He will tell us when he's ready," said Remus. "You must all appreciate how hard this has been on him. Ashton and Harry are identical twins - they were very close. Whatever Voldemort has done to Harry - and Neville - shattered this bond. If Harry hates him, can you imagine how he is feeling?"

Some people murmured uncomfortably, most having never experienced that kind of bond. Remus continued. "He's not going to say anything about this for a while. We can try to comfort him, but no one here knows exactly what he's going through - knowing what his twin has become."

"A murderer," growled Moody. He ignored the glares he got. "You can deny it all you want. We know he killed Doge. How many others do you think he's killed? And what about the incident at Crouch Manor? He would have killed you all if he hadn't been ordered not to."

James felt his heart break, but he couldn't deny what Moody was saying. His son had become an assassin.

"You know the first half of the prophecy, don't you, Albus?" asked Tonks, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"I do," said Dumbledore. "However, as prophecies go, this one is exceedingly cryptic." He paused, and then recited all he knew of the prophecy. "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... brothers in blood and brothers in all but blood, one becomes two, two become one, three become one... the one will possess power the Dark Lord knows not... and the Dark Lord shall mark the one as his equal and shall mark the heart of the light... turn to darkness, turn to light, the Chosen One shall face him... and either shall die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one shall be born as the seventh month dies..._"

James shivered as he heard it. This prophecy was about _his son._

"Parts of it, I believe have come to pass," said Dumbledore. "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._ That has already transpired. Ashton was born to Lily and James at the end of July. _Brothers in blood and brothers in all but blood_... What was it Harry said?"

"What?" asked Tonks confusedly.

"He said 'We know who we are. Our place is at our father's side.' They know Voldemort is not their father by blood - and they also know, therefore, that they are not brothers by blood."

Comprehension dawned on the faces of the Order. "Of course," whispered Lily. "_Brothers in blood _- that must be Harry and Ashton - and _brothers in all but blood _- Harry and Neville!"

"Hang on," said Sirius. "Wouldn't that make Harry the Chosen One? He picked up the prophecy, after all."

"Not necessarily," said Albus. "The prophecy may have been made about any or all of them. All three fit the requirements. I believe Ashton is the Chosen One, but the other two are very important to the prophecy, too. The next line of them prophecy - _one becomes two, two become one, three become one _- refers to that. One becomes two - I think that is referring to Harry and Ashton being identical twins."

The Order nodded, understanding.

"_Two become one, three become one_... Well, in a way, that has happened - Harry and Neville have been turned to the dark. I have no proof of this, however - this is where the prophecy is getting enigmatic."

"Shouldn't we just wait to see what happens, then?" asked Emmeline Vance cautiously. "If we don't understand this prophecy, perhaps we should... leave it be... until we know more."

There was assorted nodding at this. Dumbledore sighed, but relented. "Very well. Until Ashton is ready to tell us what happened when he spoke with Harry, we will have to wait. This meeting is complete."

* * *

Ron eventually managed to get some sleep after lying awake worrying for several hours. He only managed to grab a few hours, though; it was six in the morning when he finally woke up. He immediately sat up and glanced across Ashton's bed, only to find it empty.

Slightly worried, he dressed quickly and went downstairs to the dining table. Ashton wasn't there, but Hermione, Fred, and George were, along with several Order members who had stayed the night and needed to get to work - Kingsley, Tonks, Percy, Dad, Sirius, and James.

Fred and George were trying to have a conversation with James and Sirius about pranking, but it was difficult because neither Marauder was saying much. Kingsley, Percy, and Dad were talking about some ministry-related problem, with Hermione listening in, and Tonks was staring at the plate of food in front of her as if she could eat with her eyes, a glum expression on her face. Mum bustled in a minute later with Hermione and Percy's breakfast, as they had apparently only just come downstairs.

"Good morning, Ron," said Hermione, as he slipped into his seat.

"No, it's not," he said. "Look at Tonks. Look at James and Sirius. Everyone seems down - Mum, Dad, Percy, Kingsley - they all look like someone just died or something."

"No one died, we checked, remember? And they would have told us," replied Hermione.

"I know that," said Ron. "That's just what it looks like. Have you seen Ash?"

Hermione's eyes were troubled. "What? He's missing?"

"Well, he wasn't in our room when I woke up, and he's not down here," said Ron. Mum hurried back into the room and handed Ron his breakfast. "Thanks, Mum," he said quickly.

"You're welcome, just don't talk with your mouth full!" said Mum, heading back into the kitchen.

"Maybe he went to the bathroom?" asked Hermione.

"It's already been ten minutes since I woke up, he can't have been in the bathroom, not for that long..."

"What's this?" asked Ginny, who had just come downstairs.

"You awake too? It's six in the morning, Gin," said Hermione.

"Didn't sleep well, I was too busy worrying about Ash. But what's up? You two look worried. What happened?" said Ginny.

"Nothing... happened, exactly," said Ron cautiously. "I can't find Ash. He wasn't in the room when I woke up, and he's not down here either..."

Ginny bit her lip, looking worried. "Should we tell Mr Potter?" she asked, lowering her voice and glancing sideways at James, who was listening to something George was telling him about portable swamps. His face looked sunken, as if he had aged several years in the space of a night, and his eyes were dead and hollow.

"He'll want to know, but it might be nothing, and I wouldn't want to make a fuss if it is..." said Hermione doubtfully. "I don't know..."

"I think we should tell him," said Ron firmly. "Excuse me - Mr Potter?"

James turned. Ron hesitated, and then ploughed on. "Um - have you seen Ash this morning - ?"

James paled, and beside him, so did Sirius. "What? Is he missing?"

"Um - yeah, I guess. He wasn't in his bed this morning - and he's not down here - could be nothing, but after last night -"

"Oh no, no, no," said James worriedly, running his fingers through his hair. "This is not good, this is not good..."

"James, I'm sure he's fine - he can't have left the headquarters, the wards won't let anyone leave without permission," said Tonks. "He must be somewhere here."

"What's wrong with him, though?" asked Ginny. "You all came back from the ministry looking like someone had died, but we counted, no casualties. Ash didn't say a word to us last night and we sat with him for ages. Now he's gone off somewhere and you're all worked up - what's going on? No one's told us anything, but we're his best friends!"

"Ginny," said Dad warningly. _Like that'll stop her,_ thought Ron grimly, knowing how determined and fiercely protective his sister could be.

"What?" she snapped. "He's our friend and something's upsetting him. We want to know what the _freaking hell_ is going on!"

"Ginny! Language!" scolded Mum, coming in. "Don't you let me hear you using that sort of language again, understand?"

James glanced at Sirius, as if considering telling them what was happening, but Sirius shook his head and whispered something in the other marauder's ear. He nodded.

"That's for Ash to tell you, unless he wants someone else to tell for him," said James tiredly. He glanced at the other ministry workers. "Better get to work - long day today."

There was assorted grumbling, but they got up from their chairs and headed for the fireplace. James paused and turned around.

"Can you three - five if the twins want to help - can you try and find Ash? He'll be brooding, but he really needs support right now, and I can't take a day off - Scrimgeour is coming down really hard on everyone since Voldemort returned, I'd probably be fired on the spot."

Ron flinched at You-Know-Who's name, but he understood. The Order needed influence in the ministry. James wanted to stay and help his son through whatever was happening, but he couldn't abandon his post. "We'll find him," Ron promised, and Ginny, Hermione, Fred, and George nodded. James hurried after Kingsley into the fire, and with a flash of green light, he had flooed to the ministry.

"Let's go find him," said Hermione quietly. Ron nodded. His friend needed his help.

* * *

Ashton hugged his knees to his chest and stared out of the tiny, solitary window in the attic that looked as though it hadn't been cleaned for years. Blue sky. Sunlight. A beautiful August day.

His heart twisted. Ironic, then that he had never felt worse. Overnight the elation of his twin's survival had slowed turned to horror. His brother was a killer. He was on the dark side of the war, and - it seemed - he had been there for ten years. Well, ten years this October.

He brushed a tear from his eye. _Gryffindors don't cry. I won't cry. I won't._ But he couldn't help it. It was as if suddenly the world had turned cold, dark, and bitter, though the sun shone outside, mocking him and his anguish. How many times had he wished for his brother back? Too many to count.

_But I didn't want it to be like this._

His brother no longer cared about him. That had been obvious from the contempt and scorn Harry had shown him. It sickened Ashton to know what Voldemort had done - stolen away a five-year-old child and twisted his innocence for his own sinister purposes. Harry had killed - Ashton had seen him. His soul was torn now, tainted and corrupted. Not just his - Neville's, too.

He just wanted his brother back. But now that seemed to be more impossible than when he'd thought Harry was dead.

"Ash?"

He turned. Ron poked his head up trapdoor and sighed in relief. "It is you, thank Merlin! Everyone was getting worried." The red-haired fifth year pulled himself up into the attic, and was soon followed by Hermione, Fred, George, and lastly, Ginny. "Your dad almost had a heart attack when I told him we couldn't find you."

Ashton was too miserable to say anything, so he didn't. He just stared out of the window again. He'd come to the attic to brood, to be alone. No one ever came up here except Kreacher.

"I know you probably want to be alone, but your dad thought you needed support," said Ron. He didn't ask what was wrong or anything, for which Ashton was grateful. For one, he didn't feel like talking, and for another, he wouldn't know how to say even if he had wanted to tell them.

For a while, no one said anything. They just sat there for at least an hour. It felt like a repeat of the previous night, when they had simply sat with him, waiting until he was ready to talk. He felt a surge of affection for his friends that was almost instantly quelled by despair, but it had been long enough for him to decide to tell them. He owed them that much.

"You want to know what happened at the ministry?" asked Ashton.

"Only if you're ready to talk about it," said Hermione. "You don't have to."

Ashton shook his head. "I owe you guys at least that much." He was silent for a moment, trying to pick the right words. "The Death Eaters were there already, of course. The Dark Heirs were leading. But they had their masks off. Can you guess who they were?"

His voice was laced with pain, and he knew they could clearly see the agony in his eyes. They all shook their heads. They didn't know.

"It was Neville... and Harry," he said quietly, so quietly he was afraid he hadn't been heard. But he had. He could tell by the collective gasp.

"But they're -" began Hermione, but then it hit her. "You-Know-Who didn't kill them. He took them and made them his heirs instead." She spoke as if she wanted Ashton to say she was wrong, which she had probably never hoped before.

He nodded. He couldn't do anything else. The thought of it filled him with pain. Harry had almost killed James, Sirius, Kingsley, Tonks and Diggle. He _had_ killed Doge, and probably more. Ashton hadn't thought the pain could get any worse, but seeing the horror reflected in the eyes of his friends, his heart twisted even further. Soon, he was certain, it would snap.

"Oh, Ash!" exclaimed Hermione. She looked like she was about to start crying, and she had never known Harry or Neville. Ron simply looked shocked, as though unable to believe it. Fred and George's normal goofy smiles and mischievous glints in their eyes had disappeared, to be replaced by looks of sadness and loss. Ginny looked quite upset, too.

"No wonder you were so quiet," said Ginny softly.

Ashton didn't say anything. The events that had transpired in the ministry kept repeating themselves, over and over again in his mind. Walking down the row in the Hall of Prophecies... Harry taking it before him and throwing it to Neville... the battle beginning, and Harry running to another row - had he done that on purpose? To upset him more, to make the feeling of loss worm its way deeper into his heart?

Harry and Neville formed Voldemort's human shield. Almost no Order member would ever hurt a child, and if it was a child they had known and loved - well, very, very few people would try to kill the Dark Heirs now that their identities had been revealed to the Order.

It hurt. Everything hurt now, though. What difference did it make for another dose of pain to place itself on Ashton's heart? His brother was being manipulated, and couldn't see it. Harry thought Dumbledore was a puppet-master. Maybe that was true. Maybe it wasn't. But Harry couldn't see his own strings. He couldn't see what the monster he called father was doing to him. His soul was being destroyed, little by little.

Ashton flinched. The others noticed, but said nothing, distracted by thoughts in their own heads. The silence rang out in the headquarters attic. None of the six teenagers there said a word, but just sat there until they were called downstairs for lunch.

How could they say anything, to anyone? There was absolutely nothing to say.

* * *

**Oh, and by the way - a BIG thank you to princes-slash who has offered to translate this story into Spanish!**

**Please send me some feedback on this chapter!**

**-Jaffaninja-**


	11. Thinly Veiled

**Finally - a chapter that's on time! Hooray! As promised, this chapter shows the effects of the battle on the dark side. Parts of this were easy to write, others seem a little clunky, so apologies for that! Also, there's a little glimpse of Harry's childhood - I've been dying to write about it, I'll have to keep slipping bits of it in.**

**Anyway, here's chapter ten:**

A Stolen Childhood

Chapter Ten: Thinly Veiled

Lord Voldemort watched as his heirs left the room, their report finished. Ten years ago he had kidnapped Harry Potter and brought him to the Lair. How differently he behaved now! He felt his lip curl when he thought of what the boy had been like at first. Too soft. Too sensitive. Harry had cried for an entire week, and it had taken him a year and a half to finally turn him to the dark. Five-year-olds were not meant to be that stubborn. He should have cracked long before he did.

It didn't set his plan back very far. He had started teaching Harry magic as soon as he arrived, and soon the brat had an instinctual grasp of it. He made far more progress than a five-year-old should have done. But the boy had proven to be very capable and brilliant.

His eyes narrowed, remembering when he had questioned the boy about it, five months after the boy had arrived. Harry's words rung in his ears, not so innocent anymore, the tiniest Slytherin smirk on his face as the child realised how irate his words were making the Dark Lord. "_It's my brother, see. I think about him, and just let the feelings flow from my wand, and it turns out to be magic. I think it's love. Love is the most powerful magic, isn't it?_"

He remembered the fury he had felt at the boy - five months of being poisoned against the light and he still showed little sign of it. Voldemort had wanted to kill the boy then and there - or at the very least, torture him until he screamed for mercy. But he had held himself back - how he had managed it, he was not sure. But he was glad he had. Ten years had been long enough to make the boy his pawn, to pry him free of any lasting loyalties to his family and the light.

Voldemort had not anticipated how unwavering stubborn a child could be. He had not known how determined a mere boy could be to hold on to his innocence. He had thought he could pull it away without a second thought - but instead he found himself having to pry it out of the child's steady mental grip. By far the boy's biggest loyalty had been to his brother, so strong that even when the boy turned fully to the dark, even when it had been years since the twins had last seen each other, the nine-year-old boy had still loved him, though he denied it even to himself.

Love was perhaps not the strongest magic - the Dark Lord was not yet certain on that front - but the child had taught him that it was very hard to destroy. It had staying power that only hatred seemed to rival. But it could be redirected. And so Voldemort redirected his heir's love for a lost brother to someone else - a new brother. Neville. Another of his pawns. Lord Voldemort had always been good at chess.

The plan had worked better than even he had suspected. In a matter of months Harry cast off his old loyalties fully, and set about showing his 'brother' why the dark was so much better than the light. Neville was older than Harry had been, and more set in his beliefs, but he had two people whispering poison in his ears instead of one - the same subtle poison the Dark Lord had used on Harry. It had worked again. Neville became the second heir.

It was ironic, really. Both his sons thought of Dumbledore as a puppet master, unknowing that they were puppets themselves. Everyone under his control - all of his Death Eaters - were puppets. All under Dumbledore's control - the Order - were puppets. Or pawns, black or white, with Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort as chess masters.

However, Voldemort had not foreseen becoming fond of Harry and - to a certain extent - Neville. It was what made him a better chess master than Dumbledore - he did not grow attached to his pawns, and did not hesitate before sacrificing them as Dumbledore did - because in that hesitation, there was time to plan ahead. But he had. He was not supposed to be able to feel love; it was a magic he could not, supposedly, understand. But perhaps a certain emerald-eyed child had taught him.

To think he had been shown one of the most powerful magics by a child. A child who was, still, and enigma.

Harry was easily more powerful than Neville, though Neville was more powerful than any other of Voldemort's Death Eaters were. But the fifteen-year-old still confused him. Voldemort had thought any loyalty to his biological brother had been destroyed. In Harry's memory of the battle, it still seemed that way. But in his eyes, the Dark Lord could tell something had been reawakened. Some part of him that had been suppressed by ten years of darkness.

That part had to be destroyed.

Absentmindedly he petted Nagini, still watching the closed door through which his heirs had left. Giving the boy a horcrux was apparently not enough. He had the perfect plan to destroy whatever final remnants of morality remained in the child. _He is mine, my pawn, and I am going to show the old fool and his 'Chosen One' the how deep his loyalty runs._

* * *

"_There was a light show! But you left to talk to that dim-witted boy who looks like your reflection! Why did you leave? I love pretty lights! You know I love the lights!_"

"_Shut up, Tenebris_!" snapped Harry angrily. The snake shot him a reproving look, and the boy's anger melted. "_Sorry. But Father ordered me to do it_." He twisted the ring on his finger around and around. It comforted him to have a piece of his father wherever he went.

"_Must you always do as the red-eyed one says? Why can you not do what you want to do_?" inquired Tenebris curiously.

"_He is my father,_" Harry replied. "_What I want is to please him_." He glanced over at his brother, lying asleep on his bed with Sanguine perched protectively on the bedpost. A little smile of happiness crept onto his lips.

"_I thought you said that gold-eyed man was your father?_" asked Tenebris.

The smile left his lips immediately and his brow knit unto a scowl. "_James Potter is only my biological father. That does not make him my true father. He is no parent. And do you tell people apart by their eye colour?_" replied Harry.

"_Of course,_" said Tenebris, coiling around Harry's neck. "_So many colours. Red and gold and green and brown. There is lots of brown. Why do so many have brown eyes_?"

"_It's more common than green. Many people have blue eyes, too. And Potter's eyes are hazel, Tenebris, not gold._"

"_Hazel?_" Tenebris sounded dubious. "_That is a strange word. Ha-zel. Haz-el. I have seen only one hazel-eyed man and only one red-eyed man. Why is that?_"

"_Because hazel is a very rare colour. And Father doesn't have natural eyes._"

"_So why are his eyes red?_" asked Tenebris.

"_He became less human when he made his horcruxes._"

"_Like your ring and your brother's locket. And the other snake in this cave._"

Harry was surprised. He had not known Nagini was a horcrux too. "_Nagini is a horcrux?_"

"_There is a little part of her that whispers little thoughts that slip into her mind. Dark thoughts. The ring and the locket do it also. The ring is telling you dark thoughts. Like little worms they are. They wriggle into your mind and spread their murkiness everywhere in it._"

Harry eyed the ring dubiously. "_It's just a ring, Tenebris._"

"_It has the red-eyed one's soul in it. It is not just a ring. Why do you wear it? You do not want to be manipulated, but the red-eyed one is manipulating you._"

It took all of Harry's self control not to blast Tenebris across the room, or shout and wake his brother. "_He is not manipulating me! I am not a puppet! And my father is a parselmouth as well. You are meant to respect him._"

"_He is not my master. You are. You brought me out of non-being. He must earn my respect. I am of the noble serpent-kind and though he can speak in our tongue, he is master of one snake only. Masterless snakes may do his bidding, but I have my own master to serve,_" Tenebris hissed.

"_Insulting my father is not serving me,_" said Harry stiffly.

"_He is fond of you. That is all. He does not love you as you love him. He is not loyal to you as you are to him. Why do you give him everything you are, when he has given nothing of himself to you?_"

"_He gave me part of his soul, remember?_" said Harry, raising the ring. "_And before then he gave me a choice. Something the light never gave me. He let me choose, light or dark. I chose dark. I _chose_ to serve him, to give him my loyalty and my love._"

"_Maybe you did. But when did he give you this choice? As soon as you were brought here?_" asked Tenebris.

"_Of course not. Back then, my mind was filled with nonsensical noble ideals and useless emotions. I'd been manipulated by the light for five years, ever since I was born,_" said Harry.

Tenebris hissed in annoyance. "_Master, you may be good at knowing what people think, but you are blind when it comes to the red-eyed one. I cannot make you see, so I shall have to put up with it._"

"_I'm not blind._"

Tenebris did not reply. The dark green snake uncoiled from Harry's neck and slithered down his arm. "_You should rest now, master, like your brother is doing._"

Harry didn't argue. He was irritated that Tenebris thought of him as blind, though he knew the snake held him in the highest respect. He pushed every slightly rebellious thought away and climbed into bed. Things were always clearer in the morning.

It took him hours to sleep. Pain prickled in his lightning scar.

* * *

He dreamt of silence. Silence and a green-eyed boy with a heart-shaped scar, seen as if from underwater. His forehead burned, but he couldn't move his hand to his own scar, trapped as he was under that waves. Pain, he was feeling, not the pain of a wound in flesh but of a wound in the heart. A thorn driven so deep it was near impossible to see, much less draw out.

And then he was confused, because it was not just pain, but joy and grief and horror, all blended into a single emotion which had no name. His scar throbbed, agony wracking his body, but he could again do nothing to help ease it. He could not cry out, because of the silence that was pressing into everything. Every feeling, with every emotion, there was silence. Not a word was said.

The joy, the grief, the horror - all was washed away as a wave of pain came crashing down. A brand was being pressed to his forehead - a knife was cutting and making it bleed - someone was striking him, again and again - and the pain kept on coming, flowing, washing over him and finally, finally, his voice returned, and he cried out to relieve the torment.

Maybe his cries lessened the pain, but it kept on, relentlessly assaulting him from afar, determined not to stop until he must surely die from the agony. His hands moved - they clapped to his scar and he tried to claw at it, to tear it off. It had to go; it was what was causing his suffering. He felt someone pull his wrists back and he snarled in anger. Could they not see what he had to do? He twisted, felt his body roll in an attempt to break the person's hold.

It didn't work; their grip only tightened. He heard, breaching through the nothingness, a voice calling out to him, calling something that might be his name. He would not know: all he felt, all he knew, was his pain and torment. He tried to kick but his legs still would not move. He could not thrash to alleviate his agony. The voice called again, but he was trapped under the surface, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't know...

And then he was gasping as he broke the surface, and his breath returned. The pain fell away and the burning ceased, and his senses returned. He could hear Neville calling to him - "Harry! Harry!" - and could feel his brother's hands around his wrists. Blood trickled from his scar, whether from the pain or from his trying to claw it off in his half-crazed haze of torment, he could not tell. He blinked and his sight returned, and he could see.

He felt his tense muscles relax as the last of the pain seemed to drift away. It was over, the pain had gone, and with it, the crazed panic that had come over him. Harry turned his head and met his brother's eyes, and managed to croak, "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," said Neville, letting go of his wrists.

"I am," he insisted, trying to sit up. His arms gave out and he fell back against the bed.

"No, you're not," repeated Neville, casting a wandless scougrify to mop up the blood. "You can't hide anything from me, Harry. I'm a legilimens, remember? Your pain woke me up."

"Sorry," croaked Harry, his voice still being uncooperative.

Neville let out a small laugh. "_Sorry_? You're the one who was in pain! I'm glad I woke up, Harry, you were bloody trying to tear half your forehead off!"

"It hurt... only way to stop the pain," muttered Harry, trying to get up again. He managed to raise himself into a sitting position.

"It wasn't, but I think you had kind of... lost it by then," said Neville. "Tenebris was going mad with worry. I had to stun him."

Harry smiled slightly, an image of Tenebris slithering around him in circles, trying to help but being unable to dancing in his head. He rubbed his scar, and although the pain had gone, it still prickled.

Neville's eyes suddenly became wide. "Harry!"

"What?" asked Harry, glancing down at himself, and he saw 'what'. A soft, silvery glow was cocooning him in light, fading away even as he watched it. He raised his hands in front of his face, seeing the silver die down and seemingly slip back inside him. "What was that?"

"I don't know," said Neville quietly. "Harry, you need to _rest_."

"No I don't," protested Harry, but Neville pushed him back down.

"Yes, you do. If you don't I'll tell Bella your scar almost killed you -"

"That's an exaggeration!"

"- and she'll never let you out of her sight for a moment!"

Harry scowled. "Fine. I'm telling you I don't need to, but fine. Just don't tell Bella. Or Father. They'll just worry about me."

"For good reason, Harry," muttered Neville, but he relented as Harry lay down and closed his eyes, drifting off into a decidedly more peaceful sleep than the last one.

* * *

Neville watched his brother sleep for a few minutes, feeling decidedly torn. He wanted to tell his father and Bella what had happened to Harry, for surely, they could explain it, but he had promised he wouldn't tell anyone. _Anyone_. He had never kept something like this from his father before - in fact, _Harry_ had never kept something like this from Father.

Harry looked more peaceful when he slept. He seemed to relax as he almost never did when he was awake, lying on his back with his head on one side, Father's ring on his finger and clutched tightly by his other hand. Neville roused Tenebris, and the dark green snake shot what seemed to be a reproving look at Neville before coiling around Harry's neck and seemingly sleeping, too.

Neville ran his fingers through his hair, still worried beyond belief for his brother. Harry's scar had prickled before, and he sometimes experienced brief, stabbing pains - but nothing, nothing even remotely like this. If his legilimency skills hadn't woken him, what would Harry have done? He'd been clawing at his scar - would he have been able to tear his skin?

Driven by a pang of worry, Neville considered something he'd never thought of doing before - looking into his brother's mind. As soon as the though occured to him he shoved it away. He couldn't do that! But it kept niggling at him. In the end, would it help Harry for Neville to understand what he was feeling? Probably. But what would happen if Harry found out?

_I'll tell him why I did it then, and apologise if he's mad_, Neville decided, and reached out, connecting his mind with Harry's.

It was a raging whirl of confusion. So many images and thoughts flashing around - nothing staying for long, shoved away by something else. It was as if Harry didn't know what to feel. Occasionally it even seemed like his emotions were not his own, but someone else's entirely. It was hard to catch anything, but Neville managed to get a glimpse of one image as it was swept past - a black-haired boy with a heart shaped scar on his forehead and green eyes that masked obvious distress.

Hastily Neville broke the connection, pulling out of Harry's mind far too quickly. For a moment, it seemed like Harry was going to wake. His eyes fluttered open for a few seconds, but soon closed again. Neville let out a sigh of relief before pondering what it was he had seen.

His brother was confused- terribly confused. Meeting his twin again had thrown his mind into disarray - or had it been his scar hurting that had done that? Either way, Harry obviously didn't know what to think or feel. He would be disorientated when he woke, certainly, and he wouldn't want Bella or Father to know.

_I'll have to cover for him_, thought Neville grimly. He didn't like it, though. He didn't want to keep it a secret. But Harry did, and Neville loved his brother too much to go behind his back. Even if it meant going behind Father's back, which he had never even considered doing before. He'd never felt so torn - between Father and brother. _Maybe I can convince Harry to tell him?_

He nodded; that was a good idea. He wouldn't have to make such a difficult decision then. _It's going to be fine,_ he told himself firmly. _Harry will be fine._

But he didn't believe it. Not quite.

* * *

Harry groaned as he was shaken awake the next morning. His muscles felt stiff and sore, and the light filtering in through a gap in the curtains hurt his eyes. "It's too early," he groaned, rolling over.

"Come on, Harry, or you'll miss breakfast," said Neville exasperatedly. "I can cover you for a lot of things, but not this."

Harry stifled a yawn and stretched, sitting up in bed. "Okay," he grumbled. He stumbled towards the wardrobe, groggy from lack of sleep. _Why_ did his scar have to act up? Random shooting pains had bothered him throughout the night - occasionally accompanied by the image of the boy with a heart-shaped scar.

Those ones were the worst. He hated that he didn't know how he felt towards his twin. He knew how he _should_ feel - he shouldn't give a damn about him, in fact, he should _hate_ him. Sometimes he felt like that. Other times, some long-buried emotion tried to take control, hard as he fought to wrestle it down.

He pulled on his robes and woke Tenebris, who was still curled around his neck and just as sleep-deprived as Harry was. The dark green snake opened his mouth wide in a yawn and complained loudly whenever Harry jostled him too much.

"How are you?" asked Neville awkwardly. Harry opened his mouth to say he was fine, but Neville cut across. "Tell me the truth, Harry."

He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair, making it messier than it already was - quite a feat in the mornings, when it generally already resembled a rat's nest. "I _am_ fine, Neville," he said.

"Please don't lie to me," his brother replied quietly. "I know when you're lying."

"Damn you and your legilimency, Neville," muttered Harry, making Neville laugh. "I'm not completely fine. But I will be. I'm just..."

"Hungry, exhausted, and confused," Neville supplied. Harry gave him a look, and he shrugged. "It's practically radiating off you. You'd better pull it in before we go to breakfast. Father won't be happy if you're not perfectly well."

"I am perfectly well, just tired," Harry grumbled.

"_You're a liar,_" said Tenebris, slithering down Harry's shoulder to coil around his forearm. "_A good liar normally. But that one was transparent. Do you have any rats?_"

"_No, I do not,_" snapped Harry, lack of sleep and food making him short-tempered. He grabbed a comb and yanked it several times through his hair, before slamming it back down and heading for the door. "Coming?"

"After you," Neville replied. Harry pulled open the mahogany door and strode purposefully down the corridor, Neville only a step behind. Normally they were side by side, but it seemed his brother was giving him some space. For that, he was thankful.

His brother knew him far too well. But he didn't mind.

* * *

"You two take forever," a familiar voice complained. Harry and Neville shared a grin before striding over to the blond boy, who was standing by one of the entryway walls. "You'll never guess who's here!" Draco added as they came closer.

He shifted aside. "Pansy!" Neville exclaimed. "So your mother got better then?"

Pansy smiled. "Dragon pox _is_ curable, you know. Little harder when we can't take her to St Mungo's, but we managed."

"Why couldn't you go to St Mungo's?" asked Draco, puzzled.

Harry rolled his eyes. Sometimes Draco could be so _dense_. "We're in the middle of a _war_, Draco," he said. "St Mungo's is completely controlled by the light. Who's to say they wouldn't kill off any potential Death Eaters brought in? It's easy to make things look like an accident in a hospital."

"You'd know, wouldn't you?" muttered Draco. Harry pretended not to hear. Sometimes it was better that way, with the Malfoy heir.

"So what's happened since I was last here?" asked Pansy curiously. Harry smirked, thinking of everything that had happened in the past few days that she had missed.

"A lot," he said cryptically. "Come inside, it's not very homely in here. We'll tell you everything."

"You better," said Pansy. She and Draco - along with a few Inner Circle Death Eaters - were the only people who ever got away with threats or insults, even playful ones. Harry and Neville commanded fear and respect, much like Father, and only those who knew them best ever saw more than the cold facade they put up.

Of course, not all of it was a facade. Being cold and aloof was better than being hot-tempered, which never got anyone anywhere. And cold anger was far more threatening anyway. The Death Eaters were constantly in fear of provoking the Dark Heirs after Harry had broken several bones in Gibbon's body and done severe internal injuries to him by blasting him through a wall and into the next room. All that he had done to deserve it was almost trip Neville over by dropping to his knees and bowing in the middle of a hall. _It was stupid of him_, thought Harry, remembering. _I thought Death Eaters should be more intelligent._

"_Let's go_," Tenebris urged, poking his head out of Harry's sleeve, and causing Pansy to shriek. "_She might have brought me some rats._"

"_Not a chance,_" Harry replied, smirking. "_Tenebris, she doesn't even know you exist._"

"_She should,_" the snake huffed. "_I am amazing._"

Harry laughed softly as they set off. He unconsciously felt himself relaxing. _Everything's going to be fine._

* * *

**So what did you think? Love it? Hate it? Tell me how you found the chapter!**

**Oh, by the way - I am _not_ making Harry turn back to being light, just a heads up. That does not mean he isn't going to question being dark. Just thought I'd make that clear.**

**-Jaffaninja-**


	12. Over the Threshold

**Okay, first things first: I am back! And I am very, very sorry about how incredibly long this has taken. Rest assured, I have not given up on this fic and I will not. I was just feeling a little uninspired, and I had an English speech and a science project. So there's my apology. Hopefully updates will return to my normal weekly uploads.**

**And in this chapter: Harry is angry and confused, Voldemort is angry, Neville is torn, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny are worried, and Ashton and his family are trying to cope. That's about everything. A little action in this chapter, but no epic fight scenes, sorry. Maybe in a few chapters. I will have to think about it.**

**So here it is, chapter eleven.**

A Stolen Childhood

Chapter Eleven: Over the Threshold

Harry picked up a rock from the bank, tossed it into the river and scowled. He was irritated and - though he loathed to admit it - perplexed. Wild explanations ran circles in his head, but none of them could help him make sense as to why he had suddenly felt so much pain in his scar that he'd tried to claw it off with his fingers.

The river curled three-quarters of the way around the Lair, and beyond it lay the woods Harry had practiced stealth in just yesterday. It did not feel as though only a day had passed since he'd trained with Greyback. Greyback was prowling the woods now, for what reason Harry did not know, and he found, for the first time, that he did not care.

Greyback was barely a Death Eater anyway - he'd only received the mark a year ago, because Voldemort had not wanted to mark a half-breed. He'd never told Harry exactly what had changed his mind, though Harry imagined it was probably rather gruesome. But that wasn't why he didn't care what the werewolf was doing. He had other things on his mind.

He'd managed to distract himself while Pansy, Draco, and Neville were around - but now Pansy and Draco had gone home, and Neville was practicing legilimency with their father. He was alone with his thoughts now, as even Tenebris had gone to hunt down his own supper for once.

_I do not care for him_, he told himself, as the image of his biological brother slipped unbidden into his mind. _I do not feel anything towards him. _Even that wasn't right. He was supposed to hate Potter. Harry had been able to for years, until he met him again and saw the pain in his eyes.

Hating James and Lily Potter, and the ever-manipulative Albus Dumbledore, was easier. They didn't care for him. If they had they wouldn't have accepted his death; they would have searched everywhere for him. But they were too wrapped up with their precious Chosen One to consider the possibility that he was alive. They hadn't delved deep into the magic to make sense of it - they'd made an assumption and presented it as fact. They were not happy he was alive; they would never accept who he was now. The son they had - maybe - loved had truly died that night almost ten years ago.

But Ashton was different. He had been five. How would he have known Harry was not dead? Wouldn't he have just believed whatever he was told, like the stupid, naive Gryffindor he was? _All the same, he did give up on me,_ thought Harry, trying to re-kindle the old hatred. _He didn't really care either. None of them did. Neville is my brother now. Voldemort is my father. He's been more of a father than they could be. He helped me reach my potential._

So caught up in his musings was he that he didn't notice Regulus had come to sit next to him on the riverbank. He didn't start when Black spoke, thanks to years of training his instincts, but he hadn't known Regulus was there. That in itself was inexcusable. He'd allowed someone to sneak up on him.

"Your father thinks you're training."

Harry scowled again and threw another rock into the river. "I was. I couldn't focus."

"Why not?" Regulus asked.

The Dark Heir didn't answer. He might be close to Regulus, but he was not about to tell him about the pains in his scar, or the silvery light, or the confusion in his mind. Admitting a weakness was not in his nature, and had not been for many years.

Once, back when he was with his biological family, he had behaved as a child. He had cried when he was hurt, complained when things didn't go his way, yelped when he was startled. But he was not a child not. He had not been a child for nine years and he was not about to revert to childhood now.

Regulus picked up a stone and threw it, and it didn't land as far as either of Harry's had gone. "You're thinking about your brother. Your biological brother, I mean, not Neville."

Again Harry didn't say anything, but his silence was answer enough.

"I was, too," Regulus admitted. "After years of telling myself what an awful person he was, finally I had to acknowledge I'd exaggerated a bit. He wasn't like I'd convinced myself he was."

"Potter lived up to my expectations," said Harry quietly. "Pitifully untalented, manipulated, over-emotional, easy to break." He cast another stone into the water. "That's what I thought he'd be, and that's what he was."

"You thought he didn't care about you," Regulus said, "but it was obvious he did."

"He never missed me. He missed his twin brother, the boy who died in Godric's Hollow ten years ago. I'm not the same anymore, Black. And of course he thought very little of me. Potter thought he could convince me to abandon my father." He let out a short laugh before sobering. "Just an idiotic Gryffindor like the rest of them."

Regulus sighed. "Maybe you're partly right. But I think he did miss you - any you, no matter how different you are from the boy he knew. He was just afraid of what he thought had been done to you."

"Nothing was 'done to me'!" snarled Harry angrily. Regulus raised his arms in defence.

"That's not what I said; that's what he probably thought." Regulus paused, and then said, "You can't pretend you don't still care about him, at least a little. I know you do."

Harry's breath hitched. "You're wrong. You think I still care for him? He's the light's golden boy, their so-called 'Chosen One'! He's right there in the heart of the light with Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix!"

"And you're upset that he's there and you wish he wasn't being manipulated by the light," said Regulus.

Harry opened his mouth, and closed it.

"You hate his ideals and what he stands for, Harry. You don't hate him. You care for him," said Regulus. "You don't want him involved in this war. You don't want him to die.

"I don't care for him! If Father told me to kill him, I'd do it without hesitating!" snapped Harry.

"Of course you would. That doesn't mean you wouldn't feel saddened by his death," said Regulus.

"If I was sorry for him dying I wouldn't kill him, and since I would I can say I wouldn't be sorry! I don't care about him!"

"I didn't say you'd be sorry. You wouldn't regret following your father's orders," said Regulus. "You'd be saddened that he had to die, not that he you had killed him. There is a difference, Harry. You can't say you don't care."

"I don't," Harry stated shortly, his temper rising.

"You do, Harry," said Regulus. "You do. He's your brother after all."

Harry snapped. He let his anger take hold of him and he wandlessly blasted Regulus across the river, slamming him onto the bank on the other side. Harry watched as the man lay there winded, feeling his own temper rising around him. How dare he? How dare he!

"He is not my brother!" Harry yelled, slamming Regulus into the bank again. Black groaned in pain, his head lolling to one side. "He is _not_ my brother and he _never_ will be!" He dropped Regulus into the raging river water and lifted him out again, gasping, a few seconds later. He then repeated this, sending him under again and again.

"I don't care about him! I hate him! And now I hate you!" he yelled, though he was sure by now Regulus must be unconscious. With an effort, he pulled himself together and deposited Regulus on the far side of the river, breathing heavily. He felt betrayed. How could he suggest something like that? He'd trusted Regulus.

Harry turned his back and walked away from the river. He did not feel guilty. He had been trained not to feel guilt - to never show remorse or regret something he'd done. But other feelings were rising inside him. Though he tried to push the feelings away, they pressed back harder - the horrifying fear that Regulus could be right, and the heart-breaking sense of being betrayed.

* * *

"Let's try it once again, Neville," said Voldemort. The boy nodded, trying to clear his mind again and put up his shields. "Legilimens!"

Neville gasped at the ferocity of the attack. A probe went straight through his shields and he fought it back, trying to remove any stray thoughts from his mind. He'd been slightly distracted today, because of his worry about Harry - something Voldemort had been quick to notice and act on. As a result, Neville had to work doubly hard to keep his father out.

He felt his father's mental probe latch on to a chain of memories. Panicking, he tried to fight him off, even as the memories flashed by. Training with Rabastan, and perfecting his shield... Voldemort giving him and Harry the horcruxes... Sanguine returning from a journey, the mangled remains of an animal in his beak... the battle of the Department of Mysteries, spells flying everywhere, Harry drawing Ashton away to confront him...

He wrenched himself away from the memories, shoving the probe back, but it quickly returned in full force, heading deeper into the forays of his mind. He saw Harry confronting him about his guilt after they had murdered Doge... an earlier memory, of an eleven-year-old Harry torturing a Death Eater for tripping up in the long corridors of the Lair and knocking Neville over... Neville, Harry, and Voldemort, duelling against each other in a three-way battle...

Neville tried to clear his mind, to bury the memories so deep his father couldn't reach them. He succeeded, to a point, for a couple of minutes, but he could not force Voldemort's probe away, and eventually it caught on yet more of his thoughts and memories. His eighth birthday: his last but one before he came to Lord Voldemort... a childhood memory of Ron, Ashton, Harry, and Neville, playing together in the backyard of the Burrow... and then suddenly, the probe delved so deep, and brought out a memory he was anxious to hide. Harry, thrashing on his bed, screaming in pain from his scar... performing legilimency on him and seeing his confusion... his promise not to tell anyone, not even Father...

Voldemort pulled his probe out, leaving Neville gasping for breath on his knees. He got to his feet quickly, and tried not to look his father in the eye, knowing what he had seen and that he was not going to be pleased.

"Neville," said Voldemort, so dangerously calm it sent shivers down his spine, "what was that last memory?"

Neville fought not to flinch. Flinching, he knew, was beneath him. It showed fear, and he had nothing to fear. Except perhaps his father in a temper, which would describe the situation quite well. "It wasn't... anything important, father," he said.

"Don't lie to me, Neville," said Voldemort, still dangerously calm. "_What was that memory_?"

Trying not to show how petrified he was, he only shook his head, caught between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't betray Harry's trust, but he couldn't lie to father either. He didn't know what to do, and he could only shake his head, and keep silent.

Lord Voldemort looked angry, and Neville had to fight his natural instinct to step back. _I have no reason to be afraid. He will not hurt me. He is my father. Fear is beneath me, as I have been taught._ Lessons take a while to stick, though, and Neville knew he was still frightened, sometimes. He wasn't like Harry, who always acted and behaved perfectly, with every lesson implanted so deep in his mind it was part of him. Neville was still learning, much as it irritated him.

"Do you know what Regulus and Harry were working on the other day, Neville?" said Voldemort softly. Neville shook his head again, wondering where this was going. "Spell crafting. Making their own spells. They decided not to make a combat spell the other day, Neville. Instead, they made this one. Contar segredo!"

Neville felt a part of his mind twist, duplicate, and leave him. He could do nothing to prevent it, and he could only watch as his father's eyes widened for a second, before narrowing in rage. He could not hold in his flinch this time. Lord Voldemort seemed to be working to keep his anger under control, and when he spoke, his voice was deadlier than Neville had ever heard it.

"Why did you not tell me?"

"Because Harry didn't want me to," said Neville quietly. "Because I promised. And I didn't want to lose his trust."

Lord Voldemort's eyes narrowed further. His pupils were slits. "So you decided to keep from everyone that Harry was in pain? That he was confused, and unable to hide a weakness the light could easily exploit?"

"I - I -" Neville started, but he couldn't say anything against what his father had said. Put that way, and it sounded like he had been hurting Harry more by not telling. "I'm sorry, father," he said instead. "But... you can see why I did it?"

The Dark Lord paced from one end of the room to the other. When he swung around to face his son again, he seemed a little calmer, but not much. It didn't help ease Neville's nerves very much. He wasn't often scared of his own father, but at times like this, if he wasn't, he would be insane. That or a Gryffindor. He was not sure which would be worse.

"Yes, I can," said Voldemort. "But that doesn't mean I'm not angry at you. You betrayed _my_ trust, Neville, and decided not to help your brother. I am disappointed in you."

Neville lowered his eyes, studying the smooth floor. Red-hot shame was washing over him, and he tried to push it behind his occlumency shields without much success. "I know you are," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," said Voldemort, in the same deadly voice that sent shivers to Neville's heart. "But I will talk about that with you later. What I want to know is what you intended to do about it."

"I was..." began Neville, but he stopped, again lost for words. He didn't have any idea what he was going to do. "Well, I was going to stop him hurting himself," he said. "And do whatever else I could, too."

His father nodded. "There is something you can do I know would help him, Neville," he said. "Help him sort through his confusion, and work out what he truly thinks."

"What is it?" asked Neville immediately. "I'll do it."

"Give him the locket."

He hadn't expected that. "W-what?"

"The locket, Neville. For a week, let him wear it. It will help. Then you will get it back, don't worry." Lord Voldemort's lips curled into a cruel smirk. _That will be long enough. Being in the proximity of two horcruxes for a week will strengthen the darkness in him._

"How will it help?" Neville wanted to know, though he felt he was pushing it, with how angry his father had been before.

"Suffice to say it will," said his father sharply. Neville nodded, expecting that, and lifted the locket from around his neck.

_This is for you, Harry. I hope it helps._

* * *

"Hermione, have you seen my scales?" Ginny asked, trying to cram her robes into her trunk. It was the last day of August and it was still sweltering hot - perfect Quidditch weather - but Mrs Weasley had insisted they all pack early. Fred, George, Ginny, and Ron had all grumbled and complained, of course. Hermione didn't seem to mind, and Ashton... well, Ashton had merely nodded and said nothing.

Ginny was worried about him. They all were.

The bushy-haired muggleborn glanced up from sorting her books. "Didn't Ron borrow them for something?"

"Borrow them? I never lent them to him!" said Ginny heatedly.

"Stole them, then," said Hermione, "because I distinctly remember seeing them on the ground by his wardrobe. He probably needed them for our Potions assignment."

"What's wrong with his scales?" huffed Ginny, glowering. Trust Ron to 'borrow without asking'. "And why hasn't he returned them? We're leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow!"

"I know," said Hermione. "Just go _ask_ him for them, for Merlin's sake."

"Have you ever gone into Ron and Ash's room when they're packing?" asked Ginny, raising an eyebrow incredulously. "It's chaos. Stuff strewn everywhere, and they're running round trying to find everything."

"No, I haven't," said Hermione. "But I don't think..." She faltered. "I don't think Ash's going to be running around."

Ginny's eyes darkened, and she knew Hermione was thinking similar thoughts to her. "No. Probably not," she agreed softly, thinking of his sad, dead eyes and permanently downcast expression.

"This is a nightmare," muttered Hermione, more to herself than to Ginny. "An absolute nightmare. And I'd never met Neville or Harry. This muist be so much worse for Ash."

"Yeah, well," said Ginny, cynically. "Nothing anyone can do, really. They're with You-Know-Who. They know who they are; they haven't been tricked. I don't think they're going to be turning around and coming back to our side."

"Don't let Ash hear you say that," said Hermione. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone so broken."

The red-head nodded in agreement. Ashton had barely spoken since they'd found him in the attic, and even then only in short, clipped sentences. From what Ron had said, he'd also not been sleeping well because of nightmares, and kept clutching his scar.

"I... I'd better get my scales," said Ginny, wanting to move away from painful topics.

"Yeah," murmured Hermione, turning back to her books. Ginny thought she saw her brush a tear away, but she couldn't tell.

The Weasley turned away and left the room, intending to speak to her dear brother about kidnapping her possessions.

* * *

Somehow everything had been kept quiet. Every morning the newspaper was combed through by at least five different people, but the only thing that was said about the Battle of the Department of Mysteries was that there had been a security breach on Level Nine, which had been dealt with. That was all.

Ashton wasn't sure whether or not to be grateful for that. He didn't want the pitying looks his friends kept shooting him when they thought he wasn't looking, and he knew it would be many times worse if _everyone_ knew that the younger of the Potter twins was... was alive, but on the wrong side. But it also showed just how much the _Daily Prophet_ was being controlled by the Ministry. Which meant, judging by the article that had been printed several days ago, that the Ministry of Magic expected him to be their saviour and defeat Voldemort.

The promise of private lessons with Professor Dumbledore helped keep Ashton's mind off his brother. However, there wasn't much to think on. He kept trying to come up with things Dumbledore could teach him, but all he - and the others - could come up with was advanced defensive magic, or about some secret weapon. No one could come up with what this secret weapon might be.

His parents, Remus, and Sirius seemed to be the only ones who understood how he felt. James was throwing himself into his work to keep his mind from straying to painful thoughts, while Lily spent more time cleaning the headquarters than anything else. Ashton had never seen the place so lacking in dirt and dust, and neither had anyone else.

Sirius was coping by drinking a lot and Remus by trying to get him to stop. Mrs Weasley, who normally would have scolded Sirius for drinking so much, simply turned away when he got out a bottle. _She knew Harry,_ thought Ashton grimly. _We all did. That just makes it harder._

They went to visit Luna after they had packed for Hogwarts, and Ashton had told her about what had happened at the ministry. Luna had been more understanding than anyone. She nodded when he had finished telling her, gave him a small smile, and changed the subject. Luna seemed to know he didn't want to think about it, and she even managed to get him to laugh, which he hadn't done in days. It was something about Luna - she was so perceptive, and always seemed to know how you felt and what you wanted.

The next morning was September the 1st. Since they had all packed - mostly - the night before, and Ginny had gotten her scales back from Ron, it was a simple matter of loading everything into the ministry cars. No one questioned why they were getting them. Voldemort was back, and Ashton was leaving the protection of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

It would be a relief to get away to Hogwarts. He knew classes and Quidditch were going to occupy his mind, and that was what he wanted most - a distraction. He distracted himself in the car by having an animated discussion with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny about who the new DADA professor would be.

"No one wants the job," Hermione told them. "Because of, you know, everything that happened to the previous defence professors."

"Yeah," said Ginny. "There was Quirrell, who had a nervous breakdown - that _git_ Lockhart, who lost his memory -"

"Professor Lupin was cool," said Ron. "Stupid Snape. Who cares if he's a werewolf?"

"The rest of the wizarding world, apparently," said Ashton.

"And then we had Moody, who got fired by the school board for casting Unforgivables on us," finished Ginny.

"That was stupid, too" said Ron. "We were perfectly safe. He asked us, didn't he? And he was teaching us to fight it."

"_We know_, Ron," said Hermione. "But you have to see it from the board's point of view -"

"No, I don't," snapped Ron. "They used to have Lucius Malfoy on the board, so why should we listen to them?"

"He was sacked in second year, Ron," Ashton reminded him. "I wonder who our new professor will be?"

"The ministry said if Dumbledore couldn't find someone, they'd send someone in," said Ginny.

"Oh, Merlin, no," swore Ron. "A ministry wizard? They'd do everything by the book. Can you imagine how boring DADA will be if we get a ministry wizard?"

"We'll be copying out of textbooks, if that's what happens," said Ashton. "I hope Professor Dumbledore does find someone. Didn't he say something about getting an old colleague out of retirement?"

"Not sure how that'll work out," said Ginny. "We're at war. Who'd want to come out of retirement?"

"I think you're underestimating Dumbledore," said Hermione. "He'll find someone to teach us. I mean, Defence is the most important subject now, with - with - you know, everything that's happened."

Ashton nodded as the cars pulled into the station. _Everything that's happened._ A funny way of putting it. With everything that had happened to him and his family recently, he doubted things would ever be the same again.

And he wasn't sure he wanted them to be.

* * *

**Again - I am very sorry about lateness. Please drop me a review, they really inspire me to keep going. I stayed up until twenty-five past ten typing the end of this chapter up.**

**-Jaffaninja-**


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